


Start of Time

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [34]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, F/M, Henry is Killian's adopted son, Henry isn't Emma's, Hurt/Comfort, No Neal, Single Dad Killian Jones, Snowed In, Widower Killian Jones, positive past Millian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teamhook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamhook/gifts).

> *Happy birthday, @teamhook ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.
> 
> *You told me Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorite songs that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called A Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> *Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement! 
> 
> *Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!
> 
> *Please read the tags about Henry, Alice, and the family dynamics in this. I don't want any grief!

** _Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the moutain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide._ **

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back. 

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song. 

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse. 

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.” 

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway. 

It was a cost benefit analysis, really. 

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station. 

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving. 

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . . 

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow. 

  
  


** _There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out._ **

** **

_ A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass- _

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They  _ are _ good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy. 

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity. 

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least. 

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this. 

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head. 

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back. 

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse. 

**********************************************************

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry. 

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root. 

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma wakes up again in the Jones family home, still not knowing who she is. One thing she does know - as nice as these people are, she has to get out of here. But that may not be possible any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, Emma can't remember her name, so "she" is Emma and later in the chapter, "Wendy" is Emma (you'll see what I mean when you read the chapter). I won't lie, writing a story in which Emma can't remember her name and no one else in the story knows it is a challenge. Hopefully, I wrote it in a way that everyone can follow!

** _I'm an atom in a sea of nothing_ **

** _Looking for another to combine_ **

** _Maybe we could be the start of something_ **

** _Be together at the start of time_ **

When she awoke again, the sun shone brightly through the curtains. She struggled to sit up, her mouth dry and tasting of cotton. Her head still ached, but it no longer throbbed. How long had she slept? Was the sun this bright when she woke up before? She heard sounds outside her door as she swung herself slowly around and stood up. The room spun a bit, but once she took a few deep breaths, she was able to walk across the room easily enough. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of a white dresser, and she made quick work of changing out of the pajamas. The fabric was warm and smelled of fabric softener - someone had washed them. 

Speaking of washing, she suddenly realized how greasy her hair was. She could actually smell her own body odor, which was never good. It made her wonder again just how long she had been asleep. A shower would be nice, but she wasn’t about to ask such a thing of complete strangers. They had been kind, she understood that, but she couldn’t stay here any longer. 

When she exited her door, she was struck by the quaint log cabin style of the home. Her bedroom was at the end of an open hallway that looked out over a great room with high beamed ceilings of exposed wood. On the other side of a stone fireplace, she could see the dark haired man named Killian at the stove in the kitchen. 

She made her way quickly down the stairs and through the living area. She paused at the threshold of the kitchen, and when she did, the family’s chattering stopped abruptly. Little Alice sat at the kitchen island spreading jam on toast. A boy with dark hair just a shade lighter than Killian’s stood by the sink pouring glasses of orange juice. A woman with a dark pixie cut stood with mouth agape clutching a fistfull of silverware. For some reason, the domestic scene made a lump rise in her throat. 

“You’re up!” Killian exclaimed with a wide grin. He lifted the pan of scrambled eggs he was stirring. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Um, no thank you,” she replied nervously. “I um . . . I thank you and your wife for everything you’ve done -”

The woman interrupted her with an exuberant laugh. “Oh no, I’m not his wife. My husband David and Killian are best friends. Killian was delivering a foal at our farm last night, so I came over to babysit Alice.”

“I am  _ not  _ a baby,” protested Alice with a pout that said otherwise.

“Excuse me,” the woman corrected with a pointed smile at the little girl, “I was having girl time with Alice, my favorite seven year old.”

Alice tilted her chin with satisfaction than started slathering jam on another piece of toast. 

“I’m Mary Margaret,” the woman said as she turned her attention back to their visitor. She extended her hand. 

“I - um, that is, I . . .”  _ Shit! What was the social protocol when you didn’t remember your own damn name? _

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary Margaret exclaimed snatching her hand back. “I forgot.”

“Sooo, what are you doing here if you two aren’t married? At breakfast?” She shook her head and rubbed her temple. Why was she still talking? “Um, I’m sorry. How long have I been asleep?”

All four of the people before her spoke at once, but only Mary Margaret’s words penetrated her brain.

“Awhile.”

“You slept forever!”

“I was worried you were dead!”

“Oh honey, we’re snowed in.”

She shook her head as she tried to comprehend Mary Margaret’s words. “Um, okay, that’s a problem, I know, but I can’t stay here. I mean, I don’t . . . that is to say . . . I’m just, um, gonna go, okay?”

She inched her way backwards towards the front door as she spoke, stumbling once over a toy lightsaber. Killian rushed forward, and that only made her dart for the door faster. 

“We really are snowed in, love,” Killian insisted as she reached for the doorknob. 

“Well, I’ll just walk to the nearest town, or -” her words ended abruptly as she opened the door to a wall of white. The snow was packed in hard, letting in not a trace of light, yet the snow on the threshold had melted enough to tumble inside over her feet. She let out a gasp as the cold seeped through the leather of her thin, stylish boots. 

“I told you we were snowed in,” Killian told her with a lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

She sheepishly tried to kick the loose snow back outside, amazed that he wasn’t at least irritated with her. Shoving the door shut was something else entirely, and it took both of them to get it done. 

Hands shaking, she made her way over to a cozy armchair angled towards the roaring fire. She stared at the flames as fear clawed at her chest. Killian came over and sat on the edge of the wide hearth, tilting his head a bit so he could look into her eyes. 

“I know you’re confused and frightened, but I promise you you’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of firewood and food, even a generator if the power goes out -”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered. 

He nodded in understanding. “We’re strangers, and I can’t imagine how terrifying this all must be. I know it takes trust to believe this, but we really just want to help you and make you feel at home.”

She glanced up to see Mary Margaret perched on the arm of the chair, smiling down at her encouragingly. Alice sat down next to her father, and he put his arm around the little girl and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. Surely a man with such obvious affection for his daughter couldn’t be dangerous. Right?

The boy stood a bit shyly behind Alice and Killian, shuffling his feet a bit before stepping forward to offer her his hand. “You were passed out when you met me in the truck. I’m Henry.”

She merely nodded as she took the child’s hand, still not sure how to respond with no memory of who she was.

“That does it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We have to call you  _ something _ . You sure you don’t know your name?”

She scrunched her face up, thinking as hard as she could, but all she could come up with was darkness, snow, and pain. She bit her lip as she shook her head in the negative. 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “So we give you a name!”

Killian narrowed his eyes at his friend. “MM, we can’t just name her like she’s our pet.”

“Why not?” Mary Margaret shot back. “Alice doesn’t have a creature in this place for more than five minutes without it having a name.”

“I have a white rabbit named Tick Tock,” Alice told her eagerly, “and a turtle named Mossy, and a frog named Prince, and two goldfish -”

“You can introduce her to your menagerie later, Starfish,” Killian chuckled as he ruffled Alice’s hair.”

“We can pick a name from one of our favorite books!” Henry exclaimed. “Alice is already taken, but what do you think of Lucy like the Narnia books?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Fern like in  _ Charlotte’s Web _ ?” Alice suggested.

“Fern!” Henry exclaimed. “Seriously? Charlotte would be better!”

“Charlotte is a  _ spider _ ,” Alice shot back before sticking her tongue out at her brother.

“What about Wendy?” Killian asked.

“Dad’s favorite is  _ Peter Pan _ ,” Henry explained. 

“Yeah, but he like’s Hook best, not Peter,” put in Alice.

“Hey!” Killian chuckled, poking each of his children playfully in the tummy. “Hook is just misunderstood.”

She narrowed her eyes. Wendy . . . “That name sounds familiar,” she told them softly. 

Killian smiled at her. “Perhaps because it’s yours?”

“Or maybe it’s someone you know?” Mary Margaret put in helpfully.

She shook her head, frustrated. Every time she thought of the name Wendy, it was as if she were squinting into the fog, trying to make out a figure in the distance. 

“I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret said gently, patting her hand, “it will come to you, I’m sure of it.”

“And we’ll get the doctor out here just as soon as the weather clears enough for the snow mobiles,” Killian added, “as well as the sheriff. I’m sure someone you love is looking for you.”

She nodded and attempted to give him a small smile.

“So, are we gonna call her Wendy or what?” Henry asked.

“Don’t be so rude!” Alice yelled. 

“I’m not!” 

“Get along, please,” Killian admonished, and she couldn’t help but smile at the bickering siblings and their father’s resulting exasperation. 

“It’s okay,” she told them, “it will be nice to have a name, even a temporary one.”

“So . . . “ Killian prompted with arched brows. 

“So, Wendy it is!” 

A wide smile filled her face despite her circumstances as the four people around her cheered. If she were snowed in, there were worse places she could be. And if she had to join a temporary family, this seemed like a pretty happy one to stumble upon. 

*************************************************

The strong scent of cedar filled Killian’s senses as he opened the long forgotten trunk shoved into the far reaches of his walk in closet. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the woodsy aroma wash over him. Not only would the cedar have protected the clothing inside, it would also have eradicated the scent of the former owner. He could do this. 

Killian opened his eyes and looked down at the sweaters and leggings that Milah once wore. He lifted one of deep purple from the trunk and pressed it to his face. All he could smell was the cedar. Not the lingering scent of the citrusy shampoo Milah had preferred nor the hazelnut creamer she always used in her coffee. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him sad. Instead, he was relieved. Relieved that her scent no longer clung to the clothing but also relieved that he still remembered details about her. He would never be able to forget her, and the truth of that finally brought him comfort after four long years. 

He rose from the floor of the closet with a pile of clothes in his arms and made his way down the hall to Alice’s bedroom. He hated that Wendy had to use his daughter’s room, but Mary Margaret was already set up in the guest room. He also hated that Alice was sharing  _ his  _ bed. The girl was a cuddler who hogged the bed, and Killian was simply exhausted after two nights of sleeping on the very edge of the mattress. 

Killian knocked on the door, but there was no answer. However, he could hear the shower running from the jack and jill bath that Alice shared with her brother. He eased the door open, calling out that he had the clothes he had promised. There was no answer, though he did hear a voice drifting from the bathroom. The voice was singing. 

Killian let the door swing open and couldn’t help stepping into the room, mesmerized by the voice. Wendy was belting out The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” with the powerful voice of a rock star. He drew closer to the sound as if he were a sailor and she was a siren calling out to him. As he rounded the bed, however, he fumbled and dropped the clothes in his hands. Wendy had left the door to the bathroom half open, and through it he could see into the bathroom. He spun away quickly, not wanting to be a voyeur, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the silhouette of Wendy’s figure through the frosted glass of the shower door. He fumbled again as he picked up the clothes and set them on the bed. They now looked like Henry had folded them, but he didn’t care. He rushed from the room before Wendy caught him and thought he was a peeping tom. 

He shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and sagged against it, his heart pounding like a teenager. Yes, four long years. Four long years since Milah passed. Four long years since a woman had been living in this house. Killian drew in several deep breaths and ran his hand wearily down his face. He had to get a grip! Wendy needed his help. This was no time to become sexually attracted to her. She had been through something traumatic to leave her wandering injured on a remote snowy road. She had amnesia and was understandably frightened and confused. 

Mentally listing all the reasons he couldn’t be attracted to her helped his blood cool considerably. Besides, he had made a vow to Milah when she was sick that he would make fatherhood his highest priority. Making sure Henry and Alice were happy and thriving left little time for anything else. Hadn’t that been made abundantly clear after that disastrous blind date he’d let Mary Margaret set him up on? 

Wendy had a life somewhere to get back to, and he had his kids to think about. He wouldn’t let her sultry voice, inviting curves, or golden hair distract him from those two hard, cold facts. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma - going by Wendy because of her amnesia - meets someone new in a rather surprising way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, Emma has amnesia. She is going by Wendy here, so every time you see the name "Wendy" it's Emma.

** _Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean, I’ll be rising with the morning tide_ **

Wendy awoke the next morning when the sun was just beginning to tinge the edges of the darkness. She felt warm and comfortable in her bed, her bumps and bruises slight aches now instead of sharp pains. Even her headache had finally subsided. She lay there in Alice’s narrow twin bed, however, staring at the ceiling. It was painted a dark blue, and glow in the dark stickers of planets and stars dotted its surface. She squinted as she studied them. She didn’t know her constellations very well, but even she could identify the big dipper. Whoever had decorated the ceiling, it wasn’t Alice. Her father perhaps?

She ran her fingers through her still damp hair. She probably shouldn’t have gone to bed with it still wet, but the shower had sapped her energy, and she had been unable to resist the call of the soft pillow and mattress. It had felt absolutely luxurious to slip beneath the sheets clean and fresh. Wendy continued to stare at the simulated night sky above her, trying to remember something other than this house and endless snow, but it was useless.

Wendy knew she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, so she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She gathered the fleece lined leggings and the purple sweater one of the kids had dropped off in her room the night before. At least, she assumed it was one of the kids, judging how they had been tossed haphazardly on the bed while she was in the shower. Wendy slipped into them, the sharp scent of cedar filling her nostrils. These had obviously been in storage for a while. Had they belonged to the children’s mother? Where was she?

Since her hair was a tangled mess of wild curls from sleeping on it wet, Wendy grabbed a hair elastic from one of the drawers in the bathroom. It was small, and clearly belonged to Alice, so it would only go around her hair twice. Wendy twisted her hair in a messy bun instead, and it held. It would have to do.

She slipped into a pair of thick socks that had also been left for her, then padded softly out of her room, down the hall, and down the stairs. The house was quiet except for the hum of the central heating. It looked like she was the only one up. She crossed the living room and sat down at a desk that sat against the far wall. A laptop sat on its surface. Killian said it was the kids’, and that they were only allowed to use it here in the living room (to which Henry had groused  _ which defeats the purpose of having a laptop _ ). He also said Wendy was welcome to it as soon as the wifi was back on. The laptop’s password and the wifi password were both scrawled on a sticky note affixed to the screen with the message “In case you need it - Killian.” She smiled as she peeled it off. 

As she booted up the laptop, she thought about the man himself. He seemed like a wonderful father, even in the short time Wendy had observed him. He was affectionate with the children, and he spoke to them with respect and seemed to value their opinions, yet he was also clearly protective as evidenced by his rules with the laptop. Not that she was judging him for that - the internet could be a scary place, especially for kids. She typed in the password and leaned back in her chair. Alice also had a menagerie of pets, and both children were obviously well read. Wendy smiled. Yes, they clearly had a good father. 

Wendy clicked on the wifi and entered the password, but frowned when the words “no connection” blinked on the screen. She let out a breath of frustration as she closed out of the computer and rose from the desk. She paused in front of the fireplace, staring into the cold hearth as she chewed on her lower lip. She had calmed her fears last night by telling herself she could search the internet for missing persons in Maine. Now what? 

She knew what Killian and Mary Margaret would both say - “be patient, the snow will get cleared soon.” It was easy for them to say, though! She wondered how Mary Margaret could be so calm being snowed in away from her husband and young son. Of course, she’d called them on her cell multiple times, and Mary Margaret had explained that she could get back to the farm on her snowmobile long before the roads cleared up. Killian said the sheriff and the doctor could get out here the same way. How far north  _ was _ she? Even though she couldn’t remember her life, she got the distinct impression that she  _ wasn’t  _ a small town girl. Remote cabins, horse farms, and snowmobiles all felt foreign to her. 

Of course, that wasn’t saying much. A lot felt foreign right now. 

Wendy let out a sigh and headed for the kitchen. If she couldn’t search for her identity, she had to occupy herself some other way. Killian had cooked three amazing meals yesterday, and she felt maybe she could return the favor. She did remember one thing about herself - she couldn’t cook anything but breakfast. She didn’t know her real name, but she knew she could make some awesome pancakes. Bizarre.

She opened the pantry and smiled to find a box of pancake mix. (Hey, she never said her awesome pancakes were homemade.) She set the box next to the stove, then went to pull milk and eggs out of the fridge. It took her a few tries to find the right cabinet, but eventually she located the frying pan and bent down to pull it out. 

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Wendy screamed and dropped the frying pan when she saw a strange man in the middle of the Jones family kitchen. The sound of metal hitting the tile floor was painfully loud in the still house. Above her, she heard feet pound and a door slam. The man before her was tall and broad, with curly, light brown hair. His arms were crossed over his chest as he glared at her. 

“Who the hell are  _ you _ ?” she yelled back, coming to her senses enough to snatch up the frying pan and hold it up like a weapon. 

“Me? You’re the one standing in the middle of my brother’s kitchen wearing his dead wife’s clothes.”

“Liam!” Killian’s sharp voice came from over Wendy’s shoulder. 

She relaxed slightly and lowered the frying pan. “Brother?”

“Aye, brother,” the man - Liam, apparently - moved his hands to his hips, his scowl just as intense despite Killian’s sudden presence. “I live in the apartment over the barn. Where the hell did you come from?”

“Liam, for the love of God, would you stop yelling at her? How’d you get over here anyway?”

“The snow’s melted just enough for me to shovel out a little. Then I walked over here on my snowshoes. Now that we’ve got  _ that  _ out of the way, little brother, who  _ is  _ this woman?”

“Younger brother, and Henry and I came across her on our way home when the storm hit. She’d been in an accident -”

“ _ She  _ is standing right here and can speak for herself!” Wendy snapped.

“Okay,” said Liam smugly, “fill me in. What happened? Who are you?”

“Don’t grill her like that!”

“I’m asking her a simple question!”

“Stop!” Wendy shouted, dropping the frying pan again and pressing her hands to her head. Her headache was back, and it felt as if it were splitting her skull in two. She couldn’t keep back a groan of pain. 

“Wendy!” Killian cried as he rushed to her side. “Is it your head?”

“Uh huh,” she bit out. She couldn’t even open her eyes. The lights in the kitchen were too bright. Killian put his arm around her and made to help her out of the room. When she stumbled, he scooped her up into his arms. It was only then she realized he was shirtless. His skin was warm, and when she rested her hand on his chest she found it covered in thick, soft hair. Her temple rested against a strong collar bone, and the arm around her waist flexed with muscle. If not for the splitting pain in her head, it would have been . . . nice. 

Okay, nice was an understatement, but she was currently trying not to puke all over the man. She could daydream about his strong arms, solid chest, and masculine scent later. 

He deposited her gently onto Alice’s bed, then went to fetch her a cool rag. She murmured her thanks when he pressed it to her throbbing temple. 

“I’m so sorry about my brother,” he apologized. “He can be a bit overprotective, even more so since my Milah passed.”

“Was she your wife?” she managed to choke out.

“Aye.”

“So I  _ am  _ wearing her clothes.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Stress can aggravate your head injury. Just rest, okay?”

“I was trying . . . “

“Shhh,” he admonished gently, brushing her hair back. It had somehow fallen out of Alice’s hair elastic. 

“I was trying,” she continued stubbornly, “to make pancakes. For you. All of you.”

Her eyes were still shut tight, but she felt him take her hand and squeeze it. “That was a lovely thought.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “But let us take care of you. We don’t mind. I promise.”

Something about his voice was soothing, and Wendy felt sleep pulling her under. 

**********************************************

Killian stopped in his bedroom to grab a tshirt, and chuckled to find Alice flung across his bed, still fast asleep despite all the noise downstairs. He hadn’t heard Henry stirring either when he’d fetched the cloth for Wendy, so he hurried downstairs to confront his brother before the children woke. He knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

When he saw his brother still standing in his kitchen, his hand in a box of Cap’ n Crunch, his anger returned in full force. 

“What is your bloody problem!” Killian roared, bending to pick up the frying pan. 

Liam’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I think the proper question is  _ what the bloody hell are you thinking _ ?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You brought home a strange woman? With your kids here?”

“She was wandering around without a proper coat with a gash on her head! What was I supposed to do? Leave her out there to freeze to death?”

“So you thought dressing her up in Milah’s clothes and giving her free range of the house was a good idea? What will the kids think?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “They think exactly the same thing I do - that she’s in trouble and we’re helping her. And as for Milah’s clothes, they were the only women’s things I had. They’re not doing anyone any good sitting in a chest in the back of the closet.”

“Do you even know anything about here?”

“No, actually,” Killian mumbled running a hand through his hair. “She has amnesia.”

“Oh, that’s convenient.”

“It’s true!”

“You need to call the cops!”

“Of course I’ve done that,” Killian snapped. God, sometimes Liam acted like he was still a boy. “They’re just as paralyzed by the storm as everyone else. Graham said he’d get out here to talk to her as soon as a snowmobile could make it through. Vincent will do the same and check her injuries. In the meantime, we’re just trying to make her as comfortable as we can.”

Liam deflated somewhat and tossed another handful of cereal into his mouth. “Well, I guess all that makes sense,” he conceded after chewing and swallowing. 

“I don’t need your approval,” Killian ground out. 

Liam sighed and set the cereal box down on the counter. “I’m sorry if I freaked out. I just worry about you, that’s all. I’ll never forget the shell of a person you were after you lost Milah.”

“You never approved of her.”

“I didn’t approve of how it began, but once you adopted the kids . . . “ Liam shook his head. “She loved you, that was always clear, and I never would have wished cancer on her. Surely you know that.”

Killian ran a hand wearily over his face. They had talked this subject to death, and he was sick of it. “Look, can we just leave Milah out of this?”

“Okay, but be careful.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Liam tilted his head. “The way you carried her up the stairs? I’ve seen that look on your face before.”

“I just met her!”

Liam stepped closer and put a hand gently on Killian’s shoulder. “You’ve been alone for a long time. So like I said, be careful.”

Henry burst into the room then, excited to see his uncle and pestering Killian about possibly going outside. Killian was glad for the reprieve as he turned to the stove to get breakfast started. Liam was off the mark on everything, clearly. 

_ I’ve seen that look on your face before. _

Killian massaged his brow and suppressed a groan. Yes, his brother was clearly off the mark. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though the roads are still closed, Killian decides the snow has cleared enough to take the snowmobile out and see if any of his neighbors were expecting Wendy/Emma or know who she is. Wendy/Emma also hears from Liam about Killian's childhood, which triggers something in her mind.

_ **And the day is clear. My voice is just a whisper. ** _

Wendy shut the Jones’s laptop with more force than she probably should have. She lowered her head and massaged her brow, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths. 

“Don’t give yourself another headache, love.”

Wendy turned sheepishly at the sound of Killian’s voice. “Sorry. I should be more careful with your stuff.”

He waved it off as he pulled an ottoman closer and sat down. “You can’t hurt it any more than the kids already do. Besides, I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

Wendy bit her lip. “I just wish I could do _something _to figure out who I am.”

“I know the lack of WiFi is frustrating, but I do have good news.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? What?”

“They haven’t cleared the roads yet, but the weather has been nice enough that I can get my snowmobile out. I need to check in on my patients at the surrounding farms anyway. I figured you could come along.”

She frowned. “By patients you mean animals. What good would that do?”

He laughed brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It was infectious, and despite her worries, Wendy found her lips curling the tiniest bit. 

“Yes, my patients are animals, but they do have owners. I was thinking about why you would have been driving that particular stretch of road. Maybe you were on your way to visit one of my neighbors.”

Wendy’s brow furrowed. “So you think someone around here may know me?”

Killian tilted his head to study her as she rubbed her temple, her eyes falling shut. “Are you remembering something?”

She dropped her hands and let out a puff of breath in frustration. “No, it’s just . . . something about what you’re saying . . . doesn’t . . . _fit_.” She growled under her breath. “God, I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense.”

“No, it’s okay,” Killian quickly reassured her, dropping a hand to her knee, “but it couldn’t hurt to ask around, right?”

She nodded firmly. “You’re right. I’ve got to do _something_, or I’ll go crazy.”

Behind them, Mary Margaret had just reached the bottom of the stairs. “You ready for your ride?”

Wendy glanced between them. “I thought . . . I thought Killian was -”

“Oh, he’s taking you,” Mary Margaret interrupted, “but I’ll be tagging along on my own machine until the trail branches off to our farm. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of private trails so you can wrap your arms around Killian.”

Mary Margaret gave them both a wink as she headed to the mud room to put on her snow gear. Wendy’s face burned, and Killian quickly rose to his feet, clearing his throat awkwardly and rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, um, I’ve got two machines, but Henry’s already out in the back pasture with Alice, so . . . we’ll need to share.”

Wendy finally managed to look him in the eye, and she was strangely encouraged to see that his face was bright red, too. “That’s okay, I mean, I don’t even know how to drive one. At least I don’t think I do . . . “ She trailed off with a nervous laugh. 

Killian nodded. “Okay, well, then . . . I’ll just go grab some winter gear for you.” 

He turned and collided with the sofa, the red creeping up to the very tips of his ears as he righted himself. Wendy clapped her hand over her mouth to stop a giggle from escaping. When she rose to follow him, she tripped over her own feet, but she didn’t think he noticed. God, they needed to pull themselves together or they’d _both _end up in a ditch this time. 

************************************************

Wendy wouldn’t lie, clinging to Killian as the snowmobile cut through the wintry landscape was exhilarating. She could say it was the brisk air cutting across her cheeks, the pristine forest blurring past, or the times they momentarily went airborne as the machine flew over hills and snowdrifts. But she would be lying. The exhilarating part was all about the man she had her arms wrapped around - the firm strength of his body, the warmth radiating from him, and the way he smelled of pine and woodsmoke. She was tempted to rest her cheek against his upper back, but the ride was far too bumpy and her helmet would have made it a bit awkward. She was embarrassed to say that even Killian helping her buckle the helmet’s strap below her chin back at the house had sent electricity down her spine. She was acting completely ridiculous. She had only known this man for four days, and she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

Of course, as far as she could remember, he was the only man she knew.

They crested a hill, and farm land spread below them, covered in pure white. A bright red barn sat next to the pastureland, and beyond it a quaint two story farmhouse with red shutters and a red front door. As Killian neared, a large man with curly brown hair stepped out onto the front porch and waved. Killian parked the machine next to a pickup truck between the barn and house. He and Wendy were just removing their helmets when the man rounded the corner of the house. He was even larger close up, in both girth and height, yet the smile that lit his face was friendly and put Wendy immediately at ease. 

“Tiny!” Killian exclaimed, taking the man’s hand and clapping him on the back. “How have you fared during the storm?”

“Not bad. I’ve got a generator, like most of the farmers, and I had stocked up plenty of firewood.” His eyes fell on Wendy. “Anton Jackson,” he said, offering his hand. 

“Wendy,” she replied simply as she shook it. She was surprisingly used to “Wendy” by now, it even felt right, but it still felt odd and frustrating that she had no last name to offer the man. 

“Wendy is actually stranded in Storybrooke,” Killian put in, coming to her side. “She had an accident when the storm hit, and she’s got a bit of amnesia. Do you recognize her?”

The man frowned as he shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. I’m so sorry. I’m sure I would remember such a lovely face if I’d seen you before.”

Wendy tucked her hair behind her ears and felt herself blush. “That’s okay. It was a long shot anyway.”

Killian gave her a sad, sympathetic look, and she was suddenly embarrassed. Maybe she didn’t have anyone in her life who would miss her. 

“Well,” Killian said, swiftly changing the subject, “let’s take a look at Gruff’s leg, shall we?”

Anton led the way into the barn, and Wendy slid closer to Killian so she could whisper close to his ear. “You call _him _Tiny?”

“Everyone calls him that,” Killian whispered back, “and you’ll soon see why.”

“Good morning, my little ones!” Anton boomed as he stepped through the barn door. One half of the structure was cordoned off with a short gate, and inside were about eight of the smallest goats Wendy had ever seen.

“Pygmy goats,” Killian explained as he stepped into the enclosure. He went straight to a little brown one with white spots and knelt down to unwrap the bandage from its right front leg. 

“They’re adorable!” she exclaimed. 

Tiny motioned for her to come inside the gate. She was a little nervous at first, but the little goats only bumped at her calves and let out little excited bleats at their visitor. 

“This little guy is my favorite,” Killian told her, rubbing behind the ears of the goat he was examining. “Gruff’s name is actually ironic, isn’t it?”

Wendy grinned at the way Killian cooed at the little goat. He looked up at her, and for some reason, his grin and the light in his eyes made her stomach flip. 

“Would you mind holding him while I change the dressings on his leg?” 

“Me?” she glanced around for Tiny, but the large man was busy spreading fresh hay in the goat’s enclosure. 

“Of course. Gruff has the sweetest disposition. I wouldn’t ask you if it was dangerous.”

Wendy nodded and knelt down next to Killian. He gently placed the little goat into her arms, and she found his warm, wiggly body comforting against her chest. Gruff bleated and nudged her chin with his nose, but overall was still and calm as Killian changed out his dirty bandage for a fresh one.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“Not sure. Tiny saw that he had a cut on his leg, which shouldn’t have been a big deal. It got infected though, and he had me come take a look. There are lots of ways a goat kid can get a cut, just like a human child.”

“You mean he’s just as curious as Henry and Alice?”

He looked at her with that expressive grin again. “Precisely.”

Even when Killian went to talk to Tiny about how the wound was healing, Wendy didn’t put Gruff down. He didn’t smell all that great, to be honest, but his warm fur beneath her fingers and his wet tongue swiping at her chin brought her comfort. She heard a laugh and looked up to see Killian admiring her.

“You’re just as good at assisting me as Henry and Alice.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They visited three more farms: the Hermans who had a dairy cow on the mend from a cold, the Morgans who had an elderly horse with an eye infection, and the Pipers who were trying to keep a case of sore mouth from spreading to all their sheep. Farm life was completely new to Wendy, but she found it surprisingly fascinating (though the smell of sheep was much too pungent for her taste - she’d take her wool in sweaters, thank you very much). Watching Killian in his element was wonderful too. He was gentle with the animals and talked to them in a soothing voice. With their owners, he was charming, sometimes bordering on flirting. There was such a contrast in this man. He was obviously well-liked in the community, yet she had often seen a glimpse of sadness during unguarded moments in his home. Despite his children, his brother, and obvious friends, she nevertheless sensed loneliness in him. It was as if she could see things other people missed, which was crazy. How could she be so foolish to think she could read him when she’d only known him a few days?

As for the other purpose of their outing, it was a complete and utter failure. No one had been expecting any visitors, and no one knew who Wendy was. Aside from the Morgan’s ten year old daughter Violet commenting that she looked like “someone she had seen before,” no one even recognized Wendy. 

“Maybe you were on that road because you got lost,” Killian tried to assure her as they climbed back onto the snowmobile. 

“Killian,” she whispered near his neck as she wrapped her arms around him, “what if I was wandering that road because something horrible happened to me? What if that’s why I can’t remember anything?”

The terrifying thought made her shiver more than the frigid air. Killian grasped one of her hands and squeezed it through their thick gloves. 

“We’ll figure it out. I promise. Someone out there loves you and has to be looking for you.”

He started the engine then, and Wendy couldn’t respond. Why did she have this cruel voice taunting her mind? A voice that hissed, _no one loves you; you’re alone_.

********************************************

Wendy ventured downstairs a little past midnight. She was unable to sleep, and the copy of _Peter Pan_ Henry had loaned her was doing nothing to stop the vicious circle of thoughts assaulting her mind. A rumble in her stomach finally pushed her to leave the guest bedroom she had moved into since Mary Margaret went home. 

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs when she heard Killian and Liam in the kitchen. Killian had told her multiple times to make herself at home and to help herself from the fridge and the pantry, yet she still felt like an intruder. More so when Liam was around. 

“Your move, little brother.”

“It’s younger brother, and don’t look so smug. I’m awfully good at seeing a few moves ahead.”

“Are you trying to say I just made a mistake?”

Killian laughed. “Perhaps.”

They were playing chess; not talking about her. Wendy let out a relieved breath and headed into the kitchen. She avoided the brothers’ gazes as she opened the refrigerator, but Killian’s voice greeted her. 

“Can’t sleep, love?”

She pressed her lips together and admonished her cheeks to stop reddening. She had come to realize over the past few days that he tossed the word “love” around as a moniker for everyone, even Mary Margaret. It shouldn’t affect her the way it did. She grabbed an apple and slowly turned to face him. 

“Not really.”

“Would some good news help?”

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Really? What’s that?”

“Sheriff Graham called after you went upstairs. He can be here late tomorrow morning. He’s going to bring Doctor Whale, too.”

For some reason, her stomach twisted up at the thought. She wanted to figure out who she was, but what if she didn’t like what she found? Killian seemed to pick up on her hesitancy, and reached out to take her hand.

“It will work out. I’m sure of it.”

Killian rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and Liam cleared his throat. Wendy snatched her hand away and cut her gaze over to Liam who was openly scowling at her. Killian narrowed his eyes at his brother, but before things could get more heated, Alice’s voice cut through the tension.

“Daddy,” she said, her lower lip quivering, “you forgot to spray for monsters.”

“Did I?” Killian asked, rising quickly to go to his daughter. “I’m sorry, starfish.”

“You need to quit with that,” Liam put in, then he turned to his niece. “You know there’s no such thing as monsters, little love. There’s nothing to fear.”

Alice narrowed her eyes just like her father and put her hands on her hips. A stuffed rabbit dangled from her right fist. 

“There are so monsters. Grown ups just can’t see them!”

“Well, I don’t know,” Wendy spoke up, coming to kneel before Alice, “I think I’ve seen a monster or two myself in that room of yours.”

“Not helping,” Liam hissed behind her. 

Alice’s eyes grew wide. “You did?”

“Mhm,” Wendy told her solemnly, “but I think they’re friendly monsters there to watch over you. I mean, I slept great in that room, happy I wasn’t alone.”

Alice tilted her head skeptically. “But grown ups don’t know magic like kids do. That’s why only kids can go to Wonderland, and Neverland, and Narnia. All the books say so.”

“But didn’t the grown ups get to go back to Narnia in _The Last Battle_? And the professor never stopped believing.”

“Hmm,” Alice contemplated, rubbing at her chin. _Also like her father_, Wendy thought to herself. “I never thought of that.”

“So maybe only special grown ups can see magic,” Wendy stage whispered. Alice looked smugly over her shoulder at her uncle, and Wendy had to bite her lip not to laugh. Served him right.

“Like Daddy is special?”

Wendy looked up at Killian who had retrieved a spray bottle decorated with sparkly swirls from under the sink as she had been talking. Also painted on the bottle were the words “monster spray” in childish font. It looked like Alice’s handiwork. The smile he shared with Wendy over his daughter’s head made her heart flip in her chest. 

“Of course I’m special,” Killian teased, “isn’t that right, Liam?”

Even the elder Jones couldn’t help laughing and winking at his niece. “Oh, you’re _special _alright.”

Killian scooped up Alice. “Would you still like me to spray for monsters?”

She fiddled with her father’s collar as she spoke. “But will it hurt the good monsters?”

“Oh no. They’re immune to it.”

Killian continued chatting with his daughter as he carried her back upstairs, and Wendy felt a pleasant warmth settle over her at the sight. She turned back to the table as she took a bite of her apple, ignoring Liam’s gaze. She plopped down in Killian’s vacated seat and absent-mindedly picked up a chess piece.

“Do you play?”

She chuckled. “Oh, no. That I can remember. I don’t like strategy games.”

“It’s odd the things you remember and the things you can’t.”

Wendy looked him dead in the eyes as she set the chess piece down where Killian had placed it. “Are you implying that I’m faking it?”

Liam’s face softened. “No, not at all. I was merely making a comment on how odd brain injuries can be.”

“Oh,” she said, one hand dropping to her lap. She munched her apple and let silence descend for a moment. Then she looked him in the eye again. “So why don’t you like me?”

Liam sighed and ran a hand over his face. “It isn’t you, really. It’s just plain to see that my brother is developing feelings for you.”

Wendy’s face reddened. “I really don’t think -”

Liam cut her off. “Yes, he is, but it isn’t your fault, lass. Killian has a soft spot for those who are lost and hurting. Why do you think he became a vet? Even when our mum was still alive, he was always bringing hurt creatures home to mend, his little eyes welling up with tears. He’s always felt too deeply.”

“How can a person feel too much? He has a big heart - that’s a good thing.”

“It is, and I admire that in him, but it also makes me worry. Feeling so much also brings much pain.”

“Like when your mother died?”

“Aye. Killian was only seven, and it devastated him. Our father, though Killian worshiped him, was a horrible specimen of a person. He cheated on our mother, even when she was dying of cancer. After she was gone, he cared more about his string of mistresses than he did about us. It was left to me to take care of Killian, even though I’m only four years his senior.”

Wendy blinked away tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Liam waved away her sentiment. “We had each other at least. The sad thing was, every woman my father brought around doted on Killian only to disappear from our lives. You can’t blame them. Killian was a cute kid and charming from the day he was born.”

Wendy couldn’t help smiling at the description. “So I’ve noticed.”

Liam, surprisingly, returned her smile. “Then I’m sure you can see how our father’s string of girlfriends adored him as a little boy. He got attached every damn time, only for our father to send them packing when he tired of them.”

Something stirred in Wendy’s chest at those words, and she suddenly lost her appetite. “Where is your father now?”

“Dead,” Liam said, voice devoid of emotion, “wrapped his car around a tree when he was out drinking when Killian was eleven.”

“How awful for both of you!”

“What was truly awful was that we were suddenly orphans. Family services didn’t even bother trying to keep us together. Being fifteen and eleven, we were shuffled around quite a bit, as you can imagine. I was relieved when I turned eighteen and could join the navy. I saved every penny I could so I could put Killian through school when he aged out.”

“You’ve been taking care of him the best you could since you were still a kid yourself.”

Liam nodded. “So you can see my concern, surely. Every woman in Killian’s life has left him, and you’ll do the same no matter what happens. You have a life out there somewhere, maybe even a boyfriend. You’ll go back to that life, and Killian will have been abandoned. Again.”

A headache suddenly gripped Wendy, and the half-eaten apple tumbled from her hand and rolled across the floor. She gripped her temple with both hands. _Orphan. Abandoned. Shuffled around. Family services. _The words tumbled around her mind like shoes in a dryer - thump, thump, thump - pounding against her skull. She was slightly shocked when Liam rushed to her side and grasped her by the shoulders. 

“Wendy? Are you okay?”

The headache left as quickly as it had come. She opened her eyes, squinting against the lights in the kitchen.

“I’m okay,” she told him, “I think I just need to get to bed.”

Liam’s brow was furrowed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know, and I don’t want to hurt Killian.”

Liam nodded. “It isn’t a matter of wanting, Wendy. You just will.”

She had no response, so she wearily rose from the table and made her way up the stairs. She was relieved that she didn’t pass Killian on her way up. The story of his difficult childhood broke her heart, and she didn’t think she could bear looking him in the eye right now. When she tumbled into bed, she wet her pillow with tears. Tears for the charming little boy who always got left behind, and tears for herself. For herself because . . . because . . . she didn’t know why she wept for herself. She just felt less like Wendy Darling and more like a lost girl. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue some angst and complications!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, the chapter count increased. This chapter passed the 4k mark, and I still had a chunk outlined, so I just decided to stop here and add a chapter.  
* Just reminding everyone once again that Wendy is the name Emma is going by right now because she doesn't remember who she is.

Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke, towered over Wendy, jotting things down in a pocket-size notebook. His eyes were actually kind, though he never smiled, and his accented voice was calming. Yet his presence seemed to fill the room and command it, making Wendy a little nervous. She rubbed her palms up and down her thighs. 

“Do you remember what kind of vehicle you were traveling in?”

Wendy shook her head. Graham tapped on his notebook with the eraser of his pencil, his brow furrowing. 

“Were you driving or were you a passenger?”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t remember!”

Graham glanced at Killian, and the two men seemed to share something unspoken. The sheriff pulled over the ottoman and sat down across from her.  _ Oh, so that’s what the look had been.  _ They thought she was fragile. Her will bucked against the idea, and she straightened her spine. 

“Have you had any flashes of memory? It could be anything - a color, a smell, a sensation. Nothing is too small. You never know what might prove helpful.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes as she thought. “Everytime I close my eyes, all I see is white. Sometimes I wake up from a nightmare, but all I remember are the sounds: breaking glass and my own screams.”

“It sounds like she was in a car accident,” Killian said.

Graham frowned as he scribbled again in his notebook, though what help those details could ever be she wasn’t sure. “Or there could have been foul play. Breaking glass and screams could be a lot of things.”

His words sent a slice of fear through her. “I don’t remember anyone else but me,” she hastened to add, if only to put aside her own fears. “I don’t remember anyone at all . . . even . . . before,“ the last was almost a whisper.

“Everyone has someone,” Graham assured her with a small, encouraging smile. 

Wendy bit her bottom lip. “Do they?” 

Graham glanced away and pocketed his notebook as he rose. “We haven’t found any vehicles yet, but if you drove off the road and into a ditch, the storm would have buried it in feet of snow. The weather’s promising, though, so we’ll keep an eye out.” The sheriff’s gaze shifted to the other man in the room. “Do you think she may remember anything new during your exam?”

Dr. Victor Whale scoffed as he pushed himself away from the fireplace mantel. While the sheriff had a calm and friendly demeanor, the doctor was the complete opposite. Wendy could clearly see why Killian had apologetically told her this morning at breakfast, “I’m sorry, but he’s the only doctor in town.”

“I’m not a miracle worker, Humbert,” Dr. Whale snapped as he sat on the vacated ottoman across from Wendy, “there’s little I can do for her here. Killian needs to bring her in for an MRI.”

“ _ She  _ is sitting right in front of you,” Wendy snapped. “I’m not five. I hate when male doctors talk  _ about  _ their patients instead of  _ to  _ them.”

Whale’s brows rose in surprise, and behind him, Killian and Graham both snorted with laughter. From the stairwell, a small voice backed Wendy up.

“Yeah! And kids don’t like it either, Dr. Whale! You always ask Papa the questions ‘stead of askin’ me!”

“Alice Milah Jones,” Killian scolded as he turned to where his daughter was hiding behind the railing of the stairs, “I thought I told you to go play.”

“It’s too cold.”

Killian sighed. “Then play in your room.”

“Fine,” Alice grumbled as she stomped back upstairs. 

Killian gave Wendy an apologetic shrug, but she merely laughed. Alice was too much fun, far too honest, and frankly the only one who never treated Wendy like she might break. 

“If I may do my job now?” Dr. Whale asked. At least he was directing the question at Wendy now, and not the men behind him. She nodded. 

He first shone a light in her eyes and asked her to look first right and then left. He felt the bump on her head, which thankfully no longer throbbed. He then pulled her hair back at the temple to examine the cut which had now scabbed over. 

“Are you having any headaches?”

“Some, but not like at first. I mostly get them when I’m trying to remember something.”

Whale nodded as he put his stethoscope into his ears and pressed the end to her heart. He told her to breathe in and out. She always wondered if doctors really needed to use those things as often as they did or if it was merely for show. What did a bump on her head have to do with her heartbeat? 

“And she - “ Whale started to turn and ask Killian the question, but he caught himself and turned back to Wendy. “And you passed out?”

She nodded. 

“Hmmm . . . it definitely sounds like a concussion. Temporary memory loss isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t as common as they make it sound in the movies. It doesn’t usually last this long either.”

Wendy swallowed nervously. “What are you trying to say? That I’ll never get my memory back?”

Whale seemed to hesitate. “I can’t say anything definitive until I do an MRI. If you could come into Storybrooke General as soon as possible, we’ll get you looked at.” He jotted something down on a prescription pad, then tore it off and handed it to her. “Call this number and Astrid in neurology will get you scheduled. When I get to the hospital today, I’ll tell her to be expecting you.”

“Wow, um . . . thanks.”

Whale grinned as he slung his stethoscope back around his neck. “Benefits of small town health care - personal treatment.”

The way he grinned and lingered on the word “personal” made Wendy’s skin crawl. It wasn’t lost on Kilian either, who clapped a heavy hand on Whale’s shoulder and gave the man a tiny shove. 

“I’ll take her myself.” 

Wendy tried not to giggle at the way his jaw clenched and his blue eyes flashed. He was cute when he was jealous. 

“Okay,” Whale answered Killian, never taking his gaze off Wendy. Oh, so  _ now  _ he was going to be the attentive doctor. She refrained from rolling her eyes. 

Killian walked the men to the door and told them goodbye along with the back slaps and promises to grab a beer like most longtime friends in a small town. Wendy knew she should have been more polite, but she was so drained all she could do was collapse into the large comfortable chair. The laptop perched on the edge of the coffee table mocked her. They still didn’t have wifi. 

The door shut, and Killian came back into the room. He had a tentative expression on his face. “So . . . what are you thinking?”

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and then slumped even lower in the chair. “I’m thinking that an MRI sounds awfully serious.”

He sank down onto the same ottoman that the other two men had perched on. Yet Killian’s nearness brought comfort instead of awkwardness and nerves. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. She waited for him to say the same things he’d been saying for the past five days:  _ Someone out there is looking for you, I’m sure of it. You’ll remember soon, just give it time. Don’t be so hard on yourself, love . . .  _

Instead he gave her a lopsided grin. “Henry and Alice have been begging to make chocolate chip cookies. Wanna help?”

“You had me at chocolate.”

****************************************************

It had been six days since Killian brought Wendy home, and she was beginning to go stir crazy. They had taken several rides in the past few days on the snowmobile, and Wendy had met several more farming families in the area. Yet none of them knew who she was. She’d helped Henry shovel the walk and salt it, had helped Killian bake an obscene amount of cookies, and had met every member of Alice’s menagerie. She had even made a huge dent in the stack of books the kids had loaned her. Every moment had been wonderful, but Wendy couldn’t relax and fully enjoy any of it. Not when these thoughts nagged at the back of her mind, only to slip away like mist just when she was about to pin them down. 

There was still no wifi, so Wendy also still couldn’t search the web for missing persons matching her description. Graham hadn’t seen any bulletins that fit her description, either, but she still wanted to try. Liam narrowed his eyes when she brought it up at dinner that night. 

“Now that you mention it, a young woman your age, with your good looks, you’d think it would be all over the news that you’re missing.”

“Liam,” Killian gasped exaggeratedly as he spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate, “are you hitting on Wendy?”

“I’m making an objective observation,” Liam scowled. 

“Does he ever take a joke?” Wendy laughed as Killian winked at her. 

“Rarely,” Killian quipped. 

“We don’t got tv right now, Uncle Liam,” Alice put in around a mouthful of chicken.

“We don’t  _ have  _ tv right now,” Killian corrected on autopilot.

“But Uncle Liam’s right,” Henry said, “if a missing woman was on the news, Sheriff Graham would have known about it.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “That’s a good point, I have to admit.”

“Maybe your family, or your friends, or whatever, haven’t noticed you’re missing yet,” Alice suggested. 

Henry rolled his eyes. “That’s dumb. How would they not notice?”

“We don’t call people dumb,” Killian admonished.

“I didn’t say  _ she _ was dumb,” Henry argued.

“Maybe she ran away to play pretend,” Alice continued, oblivious to her brother’s insult, “cause everyone was bossing her. Like when I hide from Henry.”

“I’m not bossy!” Henry shot back. Alice responded by sticking out her tongue.

For her part, Wendy suddenly found her mound of mashed potatoes fascinating. She couldn’t bear to see the continued suspicion in Liam’s eyes or the pity in Killian’s. Was Alice right? Was she running away from something? Who the hell  _ was  _ she if no one had reported her missing? 

***************************************************

“I have to get out, or I’m going to go insane!” 

Killian’s brows jumped to his hairline, and his hands paused as they scooped scrambled eggs onto Wendy’s plate the next morning. 

“Me too!” Alice proclaimed, slamming her palm down on the kitchen island. Wendy gave the little girl a nod of commiseration, and Killian laughed. 

“The roads should be clear by now,” he told them as he sat down before his own breakfast. “How about we all head to town today?”

The kids cheered, and Wendy smiled. Henry’s face quickly turned to a frown, however. 

“You know what that means,” he told his sister, “school will start again on Monday.”

“Yay!” Alice cheered, brandishing her spoon. “I missed school.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You won’t when you start doing fractions.”

“I like fractions.”

“You don’t even know what they are.”

“Do too!”

Killian sighed and Wendy laughed at his woebegone expression.

“I think I might go mad myself,” Killian told her. 

“We’re all mad here, Papa!” Alice crowed with delight.

“ _ Alice in Wonderland _ ,” Wendy exclaimed, proud that she knew the quote. 

“Yes indeed,” Killian confirmed, bopping his daughter on the nose, “and things definitely get curiouser and curiouser with these two around 24/7.”

Henry groaned at the dad joke, and Alice giggled. Killian turned to Wendy, his expression turning serious.

“And if we’re going into town, you need that MRI.”

**********************************************

Storybrooke General was a small, one story building only a block from the town’s quaint court square. Killian pulled his truck into a parking space, and turned to look at Wendy with concern. 

“You sure you don’t want me coming with you?”

_ No, I’m terrified _ . Wendy pressed the thought back and gave a firm nod of her head. “I’m sure. You’ve got the kids with you, and I’m sure they’ll be bored.”

“Nuh-uh,” Alice objected, popping up between them from the back seat of the extended cab. “I wanna see Wendy’s brain.”

“How long have you been out of your seat belt?” Killian asked in alarm.

“Just now,” Alice answered glibly, her gaze still on Wendy. “Does it hurt when they look in your brain?”

Wendy swallowed nervously. “I don’t think so.”

Killian took her hand. “It will be fine, but if you’d like me to stay with you -”

“No really, you go ahead. The kids don’t want to be cooped up in a hospital waiting room.” Wendy turned to Alice before the girl could protest. “They won’t let you see my brain.”

Alice collapsed next to her brother with a pout on her face. “That sucks.”

“All you’d see is gray mush anyways,” Henry muttered, his eyes glued to a handheld video game.

“Gray mush sounds awesome!”

Killian shrugged his shoulders at Wendy sheepishly, but she only laughed. The kids had been such a wonderful, hilarious distraction during this entire ordeal, and they were quickly worming their way into her heart. 

“And you’ll be okay walking to Granny’s from here?” he asked.

Wendy nodded. “Yep. It’s one block that way,” she turned and pointed out the window.

Killian handed her a small, simple phone. “This is the kids’ emergency phone. It only has four numbers saved in it: mine, Liam’s, David’s, and Mary Margaret’s. Just call me if you need me to come pick you up instead.” He paused, still not relinquishing the phone. “Or if it takes longer than expected . . . or if you’re upset . . . or -”

“I get it,” Wendy laughed, tugging the phone out of his hand, “use the phone if I need you for anything at all.”

“Exactly.”

“But Killian, I really will be fine. I may not remember anything about my life, but I do know one thing deep in my gut - I can take care of myself. Not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done, believe me, but I can handle a simple doctor’s appointment. Seriously.”

Killian let out a long breath and nodded. “I know. You’re right.”

“See you soon,” she told him and the kids as she opened the car door, infusing cheeriness she didn’t really feel into her voice. Killian didn’t pull out of the parking space until she reached the door and had turned to wave at him one last time. 

***********************************************

The walk to Granny’s did Wendy good, despite the sharp cold still in the air. The sun was bright nevertheless, and the wind that bit at her cheeks and tugged at her hair was a welcome distraction from the disappointment that was the MRI. She was expecting to get some answers today, but after they slid her out of that contraption that felt far too much like a coffin, all the tech had said was “we’ll call you with the results in the next 24 hours.”

Wendy sighed as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself in defense against the cold. She’d snapped at the poor woman.

“Are you serious? I thought you were a trained technician! You can’t look at the pictures and tell me one damn thing? This is shit!”

Not Wendy’s finest moment, to be sure. (At least, as far as memory served - ha!) The tech had reacted calmly to her outburst, explaining that Dr. Whale would want to look at the MRI for himself before anything was relayed to the patient. So here she was, still with no answers. 

Wendy turned a corner and smiled when she saw Granny’s diner - a quaint establishment with a retro vibe. The small patio out front was currently out of use - it’s chairs and tables still piled with a bit of snow from the storm. Wendy could imagine how nice the outdoor dining would be during the spring, and she thought wistfully that she would like to be here to see it. She shrugged out of her coat as she walked through the door, a small bell above her head jingling. She saw Henry and Alice on the other side of the restaurant, arguing over a song to play on the jukebox. Wendy’s eyes scanned the room, and her heart plummeted when she saw Killian in a corner booth. 

He wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him - very closely, Wendy noted - was a redhead in a tight-fitting green silk blouse with a plunging neckline. Killian’s head was down, and she noted that the tips of his ears were red. The red head laughed, flipping her hair off one shoulder, then leaned over to place a lingering kiss on Killian’s cheek. Wendy spun away to hang her coat up on the rack by the door, unable to watch the couple any longer. Anger surged up in her at Liam Jones. If he didn’t want Wendy causing problems between Killian and this woman he was seeing, then why the hell didn’t he just say so? 

Wendy shut her eyes tightly as another emotion rolled over the first. Jealousy - which was ridiculous. Killian was merely being kind to a lost stranger. He had made no moves on Wendy, had promised her nothing. His relationship with this redhead was something he was under no obligation to share with a person he had only known for six days. 

“Wendy!” 

She turned at the sound of the children’s voices as they rushed over to her. Killian quickly extricated himself from the limbs of his - girlfriend? - and hurried over with an eager smile on his face. 

“Papa, she’s here, can we get milkshakes now?” 

“Lunch first, Alice,” Killian replied automatically, his eyes never leaving Wendy’s. “Well, how did it go?”

He placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her towards their booth, and the small contact sent heat skittering up her spine. The physical reaction plunged her into immediate guilt when her eyes landed on the redhead. The woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as she crossed her arms over her ample chest.

“Well, there’s nothing to tell. They said they’d call with the results in 24 hours.”

“Hm,” Killian replied, his face falling, “that’s too bad, I know that -”

“Killian, dear,” the woman purred, “is this the stray you’ve been telling me about?”

Killian’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Wendy wasn’t sure if he was frustrated with his girlfriend or the situation. 

“I’m Wendy,” she said, holding a hand out to the redhead in hopes of cutting through the awkward moment.

“Zelena,” the other woman replied, taking Wendy’s hand as she slid from the booth. It was all she said to her, dropping her hand almost immediately to turn to Killian and place a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. Over Killian’s shoulder, Wendy saw Henry make a gagging motion with his finger in his mouth while Alice rolled her eyes. Wendy pressed her fingers to her lips to prevent herself from laughing. 

“Killian, dear, I have to go,” she told him in a pouting voice.

Killian swallowed hard. “Oh - um, okay.”

“Bye!” Zelena told everyone in a bright voice, wriggling her fingers at everyone. 

Wendy gave Killian a pointed look after the woman breezed out, but all he did was duck his head, palm the back of his neck, and loudly clear his throat.

“So, burgers and fries all around, huh?”

The kids cheered, and the mysterious Zelena was soon forgotten. Mostly. Wendy’s mind kept going back to her and the way she’d run her fingers lightly over Killian’s chest. Granny’s grilled cheese and onion rings were amazing, the kids were entertaining as usual, but Wendy felt an inexplicable sadness nonetheless. Killian frowned when he noticed her pensively dragging an onion ring through ketchup. 

“We’ll get answers soon,” he assured her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. 

Wendy attempted a smile, but could only nod. Even the chocolate milkshakes Alice had begged for couldn’t lift the dark cloud that had fallen upon her. Liam had pointed out that she had a life out there somewhere that she would eventually go back to. What Wendy had failed to consider was the life that the Jones family was living, and had been living long before Wendy literally stumbled into it. She finally managed to meet Killian’s concerned blue eyes. It was time she pulled herself out of this self-pity and got to know this man who had helped her without question.

“So,” she announced after swallowing a cold, sweet mouthful of milkshake, “are you going to give me the grand tour of Storybrooke, or what?”

********************************************

Wendy learned two important things during her tour of Storybrooke, Maine. The first was that the town was the smallest place she’d ever been. No wonder they only had one doctor. The second was that the Jones children had far more energy than she ever could. They were leaving the docks after briefly watching the waves slap the sides of the boats wintering in the harbor, and she and Killian had fallen almost a block behind the children. Wendy shivered in her borrowed winter coat as they approached the opposite side of Main Street, heading back to Granny’s where Killian had left the truck. 

“It’s much too cold for you to be out, love,” Killian commented, frowning at her in concern. 

She shook her head. “You worry way too much, Jones.”

“So you’re not cold?”

“Of course I’m cold! It’s February in Maine, but I’m not dying. You don’t have to coddle me, you know..”

Killian chuckled wryly and scratched behind his ear. “Used to be it was Liam who was the worrying Jones, not me. If only you could have seen me in my younger days.”

“Oh really?”

He nodded. “Leather, piercings, a motorcycle - the whole bad boy cliche.”

“Was that before your wife?”

“Not really. I mean, that’s who I was when she met me. We were in school together, both pursuing veterinary medicine. She was a little older though - it was a second career for her. A second life, really.”

“A second life?”

“Aye, she had just gone through a divorce.”

“So you were her boy-toy, huh?” Wendy teased, giving him a little shove with her elbow.

Killian’s gaze became distant, and for a minute she regretted the joke, but then a slow smile spread across his face. “I  _ was _ her boy-toy, and I was fascinated by her age and experience. At least, that’s how it was at first, but then . . . it became real. We fell in love.”

“Is that why Liam disapproved?” Wendy winced slightly at Killian’s surprised expression. “Sorry. I overheard.”

“It’s okay,” he told her with a shrug, “Liam has been very . . . let’s just say  _ vocal _ with his opinions lately. I’m not surprised you’ve heard our fights. Yes, Liam worried that I was just Milah’s rebound. He softened a bit after we adopted the kids, though.”

“How old were they when . . . “ Wendy trailed off, unable to finish the thought. 

“Six and three.”

What could a person say to that? There was nothing anyone could offer but empty platitudes to a man widowed with two young children to care for all by himself. Luckily, Wendy was saved from having to say anything by Alice running up and waving a bright red piece of paper in her hand. 

“Look, Papa!” she told him breathlessly. “They’re doing a Valentine’s dance at town hall!”

“Hmm, I see,” Killian said as he glanced over the announcement. 

Alice tilted her head and pursed her lips saucily. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”

Killian rubbed at his chin, glancing up at his daughter, then back at the paper again. “I’m sorry, starfish, I’m just surprised. This doesn’t seem like your usual thing.”

“What?” Alice gasped in obvious offense. She pressed up on her toes to lean closer to her father and jab a finger at the paper he held. “Didn’t you see this part?”

“Oh!” Killian chuckled. “It’s a  _ costume  _ party.”

“Can you help me make a costume, Papa? Please, please, pleeeease?” 

“Alice, this dance is only four days from now.”

“But I have lots of old Halloween costumes that I can cut up and make into different things, plus all my craft supplies. We can do it, I know we can. Please?”

Henry frowned as he grabbed the flier. “This says you’re supposed to dress up as famous couples. Gross.”

“A couple just means two people though, right?” Wendy pointed out. “It doesn’t have to be romantic.’

“She’s got a point, son.” Killian was looking at Wendy, though. 

“Can you go to the ball, too?” Alice asked her. 

“Oh, sweetheart, Wendy will hopefully be back with her own family by then.”

“But,” Wendy rushed to add, unable to handle the disappointment on the little girl’s face, “if I’m still in town, I would love to go.”

“Yay!” Alice cheered, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Can we go to the craft store for some supplies, then?”

Killian shrugged at Wendy as his daughter pulled him along, chattering about all of her costume ideas. As she watched him patiently follow his daughter around the craft store, listening intently as the child held up ribbons, buttons, and scraps of felt, Wendy berated herself for ever thinking the man could be single. 

** _Phone ringing . . . _ ** **You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.**

**“Emma, this is Regina. You took the whole unplugging thing seriously, I see. I mean, I’m proud of you, seriously, you deserved it. I just needed to ask you a question about an interview I set up for you. You’re still driving back tomorrow, right? Give me a call as soon as your vacation is over.”**

** _Phone ringing . . . _ ** **You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.**

**“Wow, Emma, you really did unplug. Wasn’t expecting you to ignore my texts, though. God, Emma, I’m not trying to sound like a dick here, but I did just propose to you. Then you run off? Please call me, I need for us to talk about this.”**

** _Phone ringing _ ** **. . . You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your cell. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.**

**“It’s me again. Walsh. I felt bad about that last message. Listen, I love you, Emma. And I don’t care when we get married. We can be 64 for all I care. We can wait as long as you want. I just want to be with you. That’s all. Call me. Please?”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yeah, I know . . . I left some major plot threads dangling there, didn't I?   
* As you can also see, people in Emma's life are going to start wondering where she is sooner rather than later. What will that mean for our OTP? And how do Zelena and Walsh figure into all of this?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The last chapter, everyone wanted to know what was up with Zelena, and in this chapter you get your answers.   
* The slow burn also heats up a bit in this chapter, but will it last?

“Have you found anything?”

Wendy jumped at the sound of the voice in the quiet kitchen. “Shit, don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” Liam apologized, looking genuinely chagrined. He opened the fridge, retrieved a can of soda, then popped the top. He took a sip, then gestured towards where she sat at the kitchen table with the laptop in front of her. “Got any leads?”

Wendy sighed as she rubbed her temple. “I was so excited to have wifi, but you don’t get much in a Google search when you don’t have a name. There are thirty-two open missing persons cases in Maine for this year, but none of them fit my description.”

“Have you tried googling  _ missing blondes _ ?” he asked, coming to lean over her shoulder. On the one hand, she hated when people, especially men, leaned over her to look at her computer. On the other, she liked that Liam was finally being friendly - helpful even. 

“Oh yeah, tried that already. First I got a long list of articles on Natalee Holloway, then I found out that tons of sickos have pinterest boards called  _ missing blondes _ .”

Liam’s brow furrowed in disgust. “Seriously? I mean, as in - pins about abducted blonde women?”

Wendy nodded and Liam shivered. 

“That’s like an online version of those walls serial killers always have in movies,” he told her. 

“Agreed.”

Suddenly there was the sound of the back door opening and then slamming shut. Then Henry and Alice came racing into the kitchen and began rummaging around in the pantry and the refrigerator. 

“What are you two up to?” Liam asked as he ruffled Henry’s hair. 

“Building a snowman,” Killian chuckled from behind Wendy. When she turned in her chair to face him, he smiled at her. “Care to join us?”

“Yeah, come with us!” Alice cried out as she raced past her father. She fell to her knees in the mud room, flinging gloves, hats, and scarves out of the bins by the back door. 

“Do we have coal?” Henry asked. In his fist was a bunch of carrots. 

“No son,” Killian laughed, “we use wood in the fire.”

“Well that sucks,” Henry grumbled. 

“How about buttons instead?” Wendy suggested, rising from her seat. She was happy for a distraction from her fruitless searching. 

“Ooh, good idea!” Alice cried. “I’ll go get some out of my craft stuff.” She shoved the outerwear she had gathered into her father’s arms and raced up the stairs. 

“So does that mean you’re joining in?” Killian asked Wendy.

“Absolutely.”

With her lack of memory, Wendy wasn’t sure how often, if ever, she had built a snowman. If she had, she evidently had never been very good at it. Rolling the snow into large enough balls was a lot more difficult than she expected. Getting the body and then the head on top without the snow falling apart was yet another challenge. By the time they finished patting their measley three foot tall snowman into shape, Emma had discarded her scarf and hat and could feel beads of sweat rolling down her back and dampening her bra. She collapsed into the snow flat on her back as the kids started decorating the snowman. Killian laughed and plopped down next to her. 

“Worn out?”

“Yes,” she groaned, “they make building a snowman look so much easier in Hallmark movies.”

“They make everything look easier in those movies. You should have seen me this past Christmas when Alice decided she wanted to make a gingerbread house.”

They laughed together, and Wendy tried (and failed) to remember Zelena as Killian’s eyes sparkled and his face creased with laugh lines. 

“I’m not even sure if I’ve ever made a snowman before,” Wendy confessed.

“Well, you never forget your first.”

Wendy rolled her eyes as he winked at her. “Unless you have amnesia.”

“Okay, maybe then,” he agreed with a teasing smile. “What about snow angels? Do you have a memory of making those?”

Wendy’s brow creased. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Killian remarked, “since we’re already down here . . . “

He started to move his arms up and down and move his legs out and in. She felt silly as she started to mimic his movement. No, she didn’t think she’d ever done this. Alice squealed when she saw what they were doing and fell backwards into the soft powder to do the same. Then Henry flung himself backwards into the snow to make an angel as well. 

“Okay,” Killian said as he got to his feet carefully, “get up slowly so you don’t mar it.”

He extended his hand to Wendy, and then pulled her gently to her feet. It felt like he held onto her hand for a beat longer than he needed to, his gaze intent on her face. Then he blinked and turned to help Alice and Henry up as well. Wendy busied herself with putting her gloves back on as her cheeks burned. The four of them looked at the angels they had made with pride and admiration. 

“So whose is best, Daddy?” Alice asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Well . . . “ Killian hedged, scratching behind his ear, “I think they’re all excellent in different ways.”

“Please,” Henry said with a roll of his eyes, “that’s what grown ups always say when they don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“Um . . . “ Killian hedged, then he turned to Wendy with pleading eyes, “what do you think?”

“I think . . . “ Wendy replied slowly, both hands behind her back, “that I choose . . . to have a snowball fight!”

She shouted the final words as she produced a snowball from behind her back and threw it right at Killian’s face. The way he stumbled backwards worried her at first, and both hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. But then he turned to her with a feral grin as he wiped snow out of his eyes. 

“Oh, you are  _ so  _ asking for it now!” he shouted as he scooped up snow. 

Wendy shrieked as she was pelted by a barrage of snowballs thrown by not just Killian, but the kids too. Alice let out a shrill cry of delight as she quickly gathered up more snow. Henry shouted an almost tribal yell as he smashed snow into the back of his father’s head. 

“Get Killian!” Wendy yelled as she packed a giant snowball. 

She and the kids shouted as one as they attacked Killian, slipping and sliding in the snow. Killian’s shouts turned to robust laughter as he covered his head against the onslaught. 

“You’re asking for it now!” 

Wendy gasped as he grabbed her around the waist and flung her into a snow drift near the porch. Before she hit the ground, Killian yelped as his feet slipped on a bit of ice. When she hit the ground, she blinked and looked up to see Killian on top of her. 

“I’m so sorry!” he gasped. “Are you okay?”

Wendy burst out laughing and Killian deflated in relief. He started laughing himself, and Wendy wrapped her arms around his shoulders to steady herself. He stilled suddenly, his eyes intent on hers. He lifted his gloved hand and gently brushed some snow off her forehead. Then he tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Wendy could scarcely breathe as the desire to close the distance between them and press her lips to his became overwhelming. 

“What’s going on here?”

Wendy gasped at the sound of Zelena’s voice above them. Killian’s eyes fell shut for a moment, and then he scrambled to his feet and offered Wendy a hand. 

“Good afternoon, Zelena,” he greeted the redhead breezily as he dusted the snow off his pants. “We were just having a little snowball fight.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when a snowball hit Zelena in the side of the head. The woman let out a sputtering cry, and behind her little Alice clapped her mittened hands over her mouth.

“Oops! I was aiming for Daddy.”

Killian choked out a sudden cough and rubbed his fist over his mouth. “Um, Alice, apologize please.”

“Sorry,” Alice muttered. 

Zelena tilted her chin imperiously and brushed snow from her face with an elegant gloved hand. Simultaneously, she offered Killian a plastic container. 

“I happened to be baking and thought of you, darling.”

“Oh . . . you . . . shouldn’t have,” Killian stammered as he took the container. 

Wendy pressed her eyes closed as she winced. Crap, she got him in trouble with his girlfriend! “You know,” Wendy told Killian as she rushed for the front porch, “I think I’ll go upstairs and take a shower.”

She barely heard his reply as she shut the door quickly behind her. 

Wendy took her time in the shower, and then spent an unnecessarily long time braiding her hair in an intricate fishtail over her shoulder. Then she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, glancing constantly at the alarm clock on the nightstand. She didn’t want to walk downstairs and interrupt a passionate goodbye kiss between Killian and his haughty girlfriend. Then the clock read five, and delicious scents wafted up from downstairs. Wendy’s stomach gurgled in response, yet she still stubbornly stayed where she was. Chances were, he’d invited Zelena to stay for dinner, and she just couldn’t stand the awkwardness. 

Or maybe the jealousy. Wendy groaned in frustration and grabbed a book she’d already read to push away thoughts of her hunger. 

To her surprise, she fell asleep with the copy of  _ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix  _ open on her chest. When she blinked her eyes, it was pitch black outside, the clock read 9:45, and her stomach was loudly protesting. She groaned as she tossed the book aside and swung her legs around. Zelena was surely gone by now, and even if she wasn’t, Wendy’s empty stomach demanded to be filled. 

She was relieved when she got to the bottom of the stairs and found Killian reading by the fire - alone. The house was strangely quiet. 

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed, setting his book aside. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy apologized, “I just laid down on the bed for a minute after my shower, and the next thing I knew, I’d fallen asleep.”

Killian nodded in understanding. “Playing with the children wears a person out, believe me, I know. Especially in the snow.”

Wendy gestured to the kitchen. “I was hungry, so I was just going to . . . “

“Oh, certainly. You don’t need my permission. Help yourself.”

Killian resumed his reading, Wendy began looking through the fridge and pantry, and they both fell into a comfortable silence. Soon the only sounds were the buzzing of the microwave, the crackling of the fire, and the rustling of the pages in Killian’s book. The microwave beeped, and Wendy retrieved her oversized mug of beef stew, blew into it to cool it, then crumbled several crackers into it. 

“You can join me over here if you’d like,” Killian said, setting his book aside once more, “it’s much warmer over here by the fire.”

“Okay.”

Wendy settled down in the corner of the sofa with her mug of stew cupped in her hands. Killian rose and tucked a thick quilt over her lap, and her stomach couldn’t help flipping at the way his cheeks dimpled as he grinned down at her. She ate her stew as she gazed into the fire, and that same comfortable silence fell between them again. The stew heated her on the inside, the fire sent a pleasant glow across her skin, and the quilt enveloped her with soft warmth. When the mug was empty, she set it down on the hearth with a pleasant sigh. 

“Feel better?”

Wendy nodded as she drew the quilt up to her chin and snuggled deeper into its downy comfort. Killian rose from the armchair he was sitting in. 

“You look too comfortable to get up, but I figure you could use something to drink?”

“Just water, thanks. Dr. Whale says I should avoid alcohol until we know better what’s 

going on.”

“Makes sense,” Killian replied over the sounds of clinking ice against glass. When he returned with her water, he sat down on the couch next to her. Wendy shifted so her back was against the arm of the couch, her legs curled up under her. 

“Where are the kids?” she asked after taking a sip.

“In bed already. They have school tomorrow.” 

“Oh, right.” Wendy tapped her fingers on her glass, thinking. Then she resolutely set it on the hearth next to the empty mug and turned to Killian. “I want to apologize for any trouble I may have caused with your girlfriend.”

Killian’s brow furrowed deeply, “My girlfriend?”

His confusion threw her. “Yeah - Zelena?”

“Oh God!” Killian exclaimed with a look of pure disgust on his face. “She is  _ not  _ my girlfriend.” 

He actually shuddered, and Wendy suddenly felt sorry for the redhead. “She’s not  _ that  _ hideous.”

Killian chuckled and lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “Sorry if I’m protesting too much, but you see . . . I  _ have  _ been out with her before. Mary Margaret set us up on a blind date.”

Wendy couldn’t believe the relief that flooded through her. “I take it things didn’t go so well?”

“God, no. I don’t know what Mary Margaret was thinking!”

“It can’t have been  _ that  _ bad.”

Killian gave her a withering look. “She was planning our wedding. On the first date! I believe our colors were pistachio and kelly green.”

Wendy laughed and wrinkled her nose. “She wanted  _ green  _ as her wedding color?”

Killian arched one brow at her. “Seriously? You’re fixated on her color scheme? Did you miss the part where I said she was planning our wedding? On the first date?”

“Well,” she replied, tilting her head to study him, “I can see how a woman might go a little overboard on a date with you.”

Killian smirked. “Oh really? And why is that?”

Wendy bit her lip as Killian slid a bit closer to her on the couch. She cleared her throat nervously. “Well, you are a bit . . . charming. And handsome.”

“Handsome?”

He slid a bit closer.

“Mmhm. A bit . . . handsome.”

He slid closer. 

“Just a bit? How handsome am I, exactly? Rather handsome? Quite handsome? Devastatingly handsome?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she was transfixed by the sparkle in his blue eyes and the laughter on his lips. Then his lips were all she could focus on, and before she could second guess herself, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him to her. Their lips collided, and Killian let out a muffled sound of surprise. But only for a heartbeat. Then his lips were moving over hers, one of his hands cupped her face, and he tilted his head to get a better angle. Wendy’s lips parted, and the kiss deepened. A moan escaped her as her fingers found their way into his hair. The quilt fell to the floor as she slid down the couch. She pulled Killian with her, and his other hand dropped to her waist. Her shirt rode up, and his fingers danced along her skin. 

“Wendy,” he groaned as his lips trailed across her jawline and down to the hollow of her neck. 

_ Wendy . . . Wendy . . . that sounds familiar . . . but . . . but _

“That’s not my name!” she cried out, pushing him away. 

She rose quickly from the couch, and turned to flee, but he stopped her with a gentle hand to her wrist. 

“Don’t go,” he pleaded brokenly. He rose from the sofa, still holding her wrist. She made no move to leave. “I’m sorry I let things get out of hand. I know you’re confused right now, and I never -”

“No,” Wendy broke him off, turning to face him and pressing her palm to his chest. “ _ I  _ kissed  _ you _ , remember?”

The hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, it was but a moment ago, after all.”

She struggled against the smile that threatened to lift her own lips and gently pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Liam was right. We can’t do this.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. “What did my brother say?”

She shook her head, her gaze falling to the carpet. Killian put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face slowly to look him in the eye.

“Please tell me what he said to you.”

“He said things I didn’t want to hear, but he was right. I can’t hurt you like this. You don’t even know me, Killian. How can you when I don’t even know myself?”

She turned and fled up the stairs, tears clouding her vision. She didn’t want them to fall until she was in her room. If Killian saw them, he might try to comfort her, and she didn’t think she would be able to resist his embrace. 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy/Emma worries things will be awkward after the kiss, and "Wendy's" real life may be closer than she thinks.

Wendy had a fitful night sleep as she replayed the kiss in her mind. Sometimes she fantasized about it - her heart pounding as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and his fingers lightly tracing her skin. Other times she beat herself up for grabbing him like that. It wasn’t fair to him at all when she had another life out there to return to. He was a father, too, which made it ten times worse. She hadn’t just gotten too close to Killian - she’d gotten far too close to Henry and Alice as well. She was an awful person, there was no way around it. 

She also tossed and turned wondering how in the world she could face him again. First she’d initiated a kiss, and then she’d pushed him away? She’d seen the tormented look on his face - as if  _ he’d  _ done something wrong. She punched her pillow in irritation a couple of times before giving up on sleep altogether.

It was a quarter past four in the morning when she slipped from her room and headed down the stairs. She paused at the bottom step when she thought she heard sounds coming from the deep recesses of the house. She tilted her head. Was that . . . music? Wherever it was coming from, it was faint. She veered around the kitchen, heading towards the hallway off the foyer instead. She’d never ventured into this part of the house. She knew it led to the garage and Killian’s veterinary office on the other side, but she’d never had reason to go there. 

Wendy slowly eased open the door to the garage. It was surprisingly warm, though still a bit chillier than the rest of the house. She flipped on a light switch and gasped in surprise at what she saw. She knew the Joneses didn’t keep their vehicles in here, and she had heard Alice mention painting in the garage, but she hadn’t expected  _ this _ . The room was insulated and heated, for one. The floor was still concrete, though, and for good reason - Alice had free reign to be as creative and messy as she wanted. The floor was splattered in a haphazard way with various colors, and glitter and tiny bits of paper added to the creative mess. There was an unfinished oak table in the center of the room with matching oak chairs. These were also splattered with paint and scribbled all over with markers and crayon. Two easels were set up: one was a chalkboard, and one held a canvas. Bins lined the opposite wall, filled with all the art supplies a girl could dream of: buttons, pom poms, pipe cleaners, stickers, glitter, and half a dozen others. A cabinet next to it was littered with various mediums from acrylic paints to oil pastels. It was a legit art studio, and Killian had made this for his daughter. 

The music she had heard was coming from her left, through a door that she assumed led to Killian’s office. He had told her the entrance for customers was on the outside of the house, but she also knew the kids had access to his space from inside the house. This must be it. Wendy’s lips ticked up in a smile as she imagined Alice interrupting her dad to show him her latest creation. 

She tiptoed across the floor, the concrete ice cold even through her socks. Slowly Wendy opened the door. Killian’s back was to her and at first she wasn’t sure why he was hunched over. As she stepped into the room, it became clear: he was playing the guitar. He was singing, too. 

_ “Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so. I’m bare-boned and crazy for you when you come crash into me, baby . . . “ _

He hummed then, either because he didn’t know the rest of the words or because he was concentrating on strumming, and Wendy cleared her throat. He startled at the sound, then relaxed when he turned in his chair and saw her. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard music . . .”

She trailed off as she realized that she was doing the very thing that had kept her up - facing him. The early hour had given a surreal quality to everything, but now it slammed into her that he was only a few feet away. If he felt as awkward as she did, however, he didn’t show it.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you up. I usually don’t disturb the kids way out here -”

“No, it was fine, really. I was already up. I could barely hear it, but I was curious.”

He simply nodded. “I’m a bit rusty,” he confessed. “Hope it didn’t sound too bad.”

“Not at all. And you have a great voice.”

He ducked his head, blushing at her praise. Wendy found a folding chair and dragged it over so she could sit down. She reached her hand out towards the instrument. 

“May I?”

“Of course,” Killian told her, pulling the strap up and over his head and relinquishing the guitar.

A thrill went through her - it felt so familiar, so right in her hands. She put the strap around her shoulders, then adjusted the guitar on her thigh. She plucked a few strings, then began to strum. Once she felt comfortable, it just came to her, and she was suddenly playing a guitar solo. Killian’s eyes widened, and she just grinned. She transitioned to strumming as she began to sing.

_ “If we still have time, we might still get by. Every time I think about it, I want to cry. With bombs and the devil, and the kids keep comin’. No way to breathe easy, no time to be young. But I tell myself I was doin’ alright. There’s nothin’ left to do at night but go crazy on you. Crazy on you. Let me go crazy, crazy on you.” _

She trailed off when she saw how Killian’s jaw had dropped. Her own mouth hung open in shock as she stopped the sound of the guitar with her flattened palm.

“I can sing!” she exclaimed. “And I know how to play the guitar!”

Killian blinked and shook his head. “That’s an understatement love! That’s Nancy Wilson’s guitar solo you just played! My God, lass!”

“Yeah,” Wendy mused, “Nancy Wilson from Heart. That’s not easy to play, is it?”

“Not like that it isn’t! I’m sort of embarrassed that you heard me muddling around just now.”

She shrugged. “I thought you had promise,” she teased.

He laughed and shoved her playfully in the knee. “Come to think of it, I did hear you belting out ‘Brass in Pocket’ the first night you were here.”

“Wait a minute!” Wendy exclaimed. “I was singing that in the shower!”

Killian’s face turned bright red and he scratched furiously behind his ear. “I was just leaving you some clothes, I swear. I turned right back around!”

Laughter bubbled up out of her. “I thought one of the kids left those clothes. They were all balled up and half falling on the floor.”

“I told you I got out of their post haste!”

They were both laughing now, and it felt wonderful. She should have known he wouldn’t make things awkward. She stared down at the guitar in her lap and idly strummed. 

“About you not sleeping -”

“Don’t, Killian, please.”

“We need to talk about that kiss.”

“No, we don’t. It was a . . . one-time thing.”

Killian sighed and then stood wearily to his feet. “As you wish.” He made his way slowly to the door. “You coming?”

“Would it be alright if I stayed in here and played a little longer?”

He smiled gently at her. “Of course, love. God knows that guitar deserves someone with more talent than me.”

The sadness infusing his words lingered long after he’d left, and Wendy could only hum while picking out a few chords. Then, suddenly, words that she knew were in no recorded song she had ever heard before, yet were familiar all the same bubbled up out of her along with a melody for the instrument in her hands. 

_ “Once I lived in darkness out there on my own. Left to brave the world alone. Everything seemed hopeless, no chance to break free. Couldn’t hear the song inside of me.” _

She stilled the music with her palm once more. Where the hell had  _ that  _ come from?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steam rose up from the colander where Killian was draining the pasta. Behind him, the oven timer starting going off. 

“Henry, can you grab the garlic bread?”

Henry hopped up from the kitchen island where he was finishing his homework, grabbed an oven mitt, and slid the bread from the oven.

“When are Alice and Wendy gonna get home? I’m starving!”

Killian smiled as he shook his head ruefully. It seemed like the boy was  _ always _ “starving.” 

“I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. I hope so anyway. This food is gonna get cold.”

As if their conversation had summoned them, the front door suddenly burst open and his daughter’s giggles blended with Wendy’s laughter. The sound made his heart clench and his smile widen. He looked over his shoulder as the two of them tumbled into the kitchen, dropping bags on the table. 

“Come see what we got Daddy!” said Alice.

Killian wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Okay, but only for a minute. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Where’s Mary Margaret?” Henry asked with a frown.

“She had to get home and help David with something with the horses,” Wendy told him, “but she said to tell you hi.”

“Okay, girls, what do we have?” Killian asked.

“This is mine,” Alice said, digging something white and frilly out of one of the thrift store bags. She shook it out and held it up for them to see.

“An apron?” Henry scoffed.

“I’m gonna be Alice, get it?” Alice pressed the apron to her torso and frowned at her brother. “You know -  _ Alice in Wonderland.  _ I’ll wear this over my blue Easter dress.”

“Oh,” Henry said, “I see.”

“We also bought some blue ribbon at the craft store to tie around her hair,” Wendy added.

“And this . . . “ Alice announced dramatically, pulling a long, stainy, light blue nightgown with capped sleeves out of the other thrift store bag, “is for Wendy.”

“We’re casting ourselves to type,” Wendy said to Killian with a shrug.

“I like it. But this is a couple’s dance.”

“Daddy, we know that,” Alice countered with a roll of her eyes. “You and Henry will match us. So Wendy is - well, Wendy, so you can be Peter Pan.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “I am  _ not  _ going as Peter Pan. You are not getting me in green tights.”

Wendy and Alice exchanged knowing glances. Wendy reached into a bag from the party supply store. “We had a feeling you’d say that, so we got you this.”

Killian chuckled as he took it from her. “A plastic hook. Okay, I’ll go with it.”

“I thought we should get a pirate hat too, but Wendy said you wouldn’t go for it.”

Killian caught the woman’s eye. “She already knows me so well.”

Wendy glanced away as a blush stained her cheeks. 

“What about me?” Henry demanded. 

“Well, since I’m Alice, we got you this.”

“Sweet!” Henry exclaimed as his sister handed him a tall, purple velour hat with a giant fake price tag attached. He plopped it on his head and grinned up at Killian. “Can I borrow one of your vests, Dad?”

“Sure, son.”

“We are going to look so cool!” Alice squealed as she jumped up and down. She grasped Wendy around the waist, and the woman hugged her back with enthusiasm. 

“I know,” Wendy agreed, “I’m so proud of us! And we only spent like twenty bucks!”

Killian watched his daughter planning out her costume with Wendy, and first his heart warms at the way the two of them have bonded. On the heels of that emotion, sadness washed over him as he realized that his daughter could also get hurt. 

***********************************************************

Zelena Green really thought that that teaching her spinning class would get all of her frustrations out, but she stepped out of the showers fuming just as much as she had when she’d arrived that afternoon. Her mother had always warned her she came on too strong with men, but Killian Jones had really seemed to be warming up to her. Until this infuriating Wendy person showed up. Amnesia? Yeah, right. Zelena was a master of manipulation, and even she hadn’t stooped low enough to try  _ that  _ tactic. 

As Zelena stomped out of the locker room, her students gave her a wide berth, many of them still struggling to breathe after the torture she’d put them through. She ignored the teenager at reception, her boss asking to speak with her, and the tiny brunette named Dorothy who cried out in irritation when Zelena practically bowled her over. Curses spilled from her mouth when she collided with a corner of one of the tables in the lobby littered with magazines. They all slid to the floor, and Zelena cursed again. She tossed her gym bag down and started scooping them up.

She froze when she saw a copy of last month’s  _ Rolling Stone.  _ Normally, the small blurb on the members of a moderately successful female indie rock band going solo wouldn’t have caught her attention. 

But there was a blonde in the picture she had seen before. 

********************************************************

“Ms. Mills, you have a call on line one from a Zelena Green that you really need to take.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Regina told her assistant archly, “so just say I’m busy.”

“Begging your pardon, but I really think you need to hear what she has to say.”

Regina rolled her eyes as she swiveled her chair to face the incompetent woman interrupting her. “And why is that?”

“Because she says Emma Swan is stuck in rural Maine with a case of amnesia.”

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temptation and revelations both await Wendy/Emma at the town's costume Valentine's dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * We're almost to the end! The slow burn really heats up again in this chapter - that's the good news. But . . . well, I hope you don't hate me after this *ducks and hides*  
* Have you ever imagined Killian Jones doing the "Cha-cha Slide"? No? Well, now you won't be able to forget, lol.

** _Louder than the screams you hear; it’s like the sun came out._ **

“How do I look?”

Wendy spun around from where she was tying the blue ribbon into Alice’s blonde hair. Her throat went dry when she saw Killian standing before her in leather pants of all things. It was topped with a billowy black shirt and a red leather vest. He had his arms out at his sides, his brows arched.

“Well?”

Alice burst out laughing, and Killian’s face fell. Wendy bit her lip as she struggled not to laugh as well. His expression was just so crestfallen. 

“Um. I thought you were supposed to be a pirate, not a rock star,” she finally told him. 

His expression turned playful at her words, and a smirk played upon his lips as he sauntered towards her. “Well, love, I warned you I wasn’t going to be caught dead in a feathered cap and a permed wig.”

“I see,” Wendy replied, struggling to breathe at his close proximity. He’d left an awful lot of his buttons undone.

“And I’m wearing the hook you ladies bought for me,” he added, waving the plastic appendage before her face.

Wendy took a slightly wobbly step back. “Well, now that I see the full affect . . . it’s definitely more Johnny Depp than Captain Hook, but it’ll work.”

He made a dramatic bow and offered her his hand. “M’lady.”

“Daddy,” Alice giggled, “she’s s’posed to be afraid of you.”

“Oh no,” Killian argued, “the novel specifically says that Hook charmed Wendy.”

When he lifted her hand to his lips to press a kiss there, Wendy wasn’t thinking of the book at all. She was thinking that  _ this  _ Wendy was certainly charmed by  _ this  _ Hook. 

“Well?” he prompted again with an arch of one brow. 

She shrugged her shoulders and said coyly, “I suppose it will do.”

“You, on the other hand,” he told her, spreading her arms wide to take in the long, satin nightgown that hugged her curves, “are lovely.”

“I think the costume has gone to your dad’s head,” Wendy told Alice.

“I’m not flattering, love, it’s absolutely true.”

Wendy tilted her head, her cheeks blushing. Her curled ponytail bounced against her shoulder, and Killian reached out to twirl it around his fingers. Henry’s voice caused them to jump apart.

“Are the girls ready yet?” the boy whined.

“Yes,” Alice retorted saucily. 

“Then let’s  _ go _ .”

“Not yet,” said Wendy, snatching up the pile of makeup she and Alice had bought at the drugstore. She turned to Killian. “I have to do one more thing for your dad.”

****************************************************

“Is this really necessary,” Killian grumbled.

“Yes. It completes the look.” Wendy grasped his chin in her hand and forced him to be still. She leaned closer with the eyeliner held steady in her other hand. Killian leaned away.

“You’re going to poke my eye out!”

“Don’t be such a baby! If you’d be still, I could do it. Now widen your eyes and look up.”

Killian tilted his head up, and Wendy yanked on his chin again. 

“Just move your eyes, not your whole head.”

“Well, I’ve never worn makeup before, believe it or not.” He obeyed anyway.

Wendy narrowed her eyes as she carefully swiped the eyeliner across his upper lids. To do the lower ones, she had to cup his head and stretch the skin around his eyes with her thumb. 

“There,” she breathed when she was done. She was so intent on examining her handiwork, that she kept her thumb resting against the top of his cheek, the rest of her fingers threaded into his hair. 

“How does it look?”

She realized how close they were when his words came out hot against her skin. Her 

gaze focused on the blue of his eyes instead of the eyeliner, and every thought fled her brain. Her hand stroked his cheek, and her thumb traced the scar below his right eye. They both moved closer, their noses brushing, and Killian sighed deeply as his eyes fluttered closed. 

“We shouldn’t -”

“I know.”

“You could be married.”

“I’m not wearing a ring.”

“A boyfriend then.”

“I don’t care.”

A groan reverberated in the back of his throat as her lips brushed against his, and his fingers dug into her hip. She couldn’t tell who was trembling from the exquisite torture: her or Killian. 

“Dad!” Henry’s irritated shout from downstairs made them leap apart. “What’s taking so long?”

Killian loosened his grip on Wendy and let his forehead collapse against hers. “Coming,” he called back, irritation lacing his voice. 

Wendy couldn’t help it - she started to laugh. It came out as an inelegant snort and she dropped her head to Killian’s shoulder, partly from embarrassment, and partly because the laughter seemed to have taken over and she just couldn’t stop. Killian started to laugh too, and his fingers found their way back to her waist. He tried to grasp her with both hands, but the plastic hook impeded him. 

“Stupid hook,” he muttered, and for some reason that made Wendy laugh even harder. 

“Seriously, Dad!” Henry shouted again. “What are you two  _ doing  _ up there?”

The boy only succeeded in making the two adults in the guest bath fall into complete hysterics. Wendy rolled her eyes, and yanked Killian away from the sink by the lapel of his leather jacket. They came down the stairs, still laughing, and the kids looked at them in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing,” they said at the exact same time, and started laughing all over again.

“Grown ups,” Alice groaned with a shake of her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Storybrooke Town Hall was decorated in an explosion of pink and red crepe paper, glitter, hearts, and cupids. Henry rolled his eyes while Alice bounced in excitement. 

“Oh my goodness, you all look adorable!” 

Killian and Wendy turned around to find themselves face to face with Snow White and Prince Charming. Wendy blinked and shook her head at how perfectly suited Mary Margaret was to the roll with her flawless skin. She had a red ribbon tied in her dark hair and wore an exquisite dress exactly like the one in the movie. 

“And you look amazing!” Wendy exclaimed, giving her friend a hug. “I’m sorry, Alice, but your dad and I might not be able to compete with these two.”

“Is that a real sword, David?” Henry asked.

David grinned as he pulled it from its scabbard. “Afraid not, it’s just plastic.”

“Why didn’t I get a sword?” Killian asked, giving first his daughter and then Emma an exaggerated pout. 

“Pirates carry a cutlass,” Alice informed him primly, “and we didn’t have enough in the budget for a hook  _ and  _ a cutlass.”

“How old are you again?” Killian teased, tipping his daughter’s chin. “Thirty-five?”

Alice giggled, and Killian bopped her on the nose. 

“Well, I’m manning the photo booth, and the four of you have to get yours made,” Mary Margaret told them motioning for them to follow her to the opposite wall where someone had hung a large white sheet for a backdrop. “Everyone who wants to enter the costume contest has to be photographed anyway for the judges.”

Killian shrugged at Wendy. “Is that okay?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You  _ have  _ to,” Alice insisted, “or you can’t win the prize.”

Wendy felt a little awkward standing with Killian and his kids like they were having a family portrait made, but she followed Mary Margaret dutifully to the x marked with tape on the floor. Several of the small town’s citizens eyed them as they walked past, some of them whispering, and Wendy felt her face grow hot under their scrutiny. Then Alice threw her skinny arms around her waist, Killian slung his arm around her shoulder, Henry leaned in, and Wendy let herself get lost in the fantasy that this really was her life. 

“Say  _ cupid _ !” Mary Margaret told them, and they repeated the word with wide smiles. The flash went off, and a sharp pain sliced across Wendy’s eyes. She stumbled backwards, and held her forehead as what felt like a thousand flashbulbs went off behind her closed eyes. She was remembering something, she was sure of it, but all she could grasp were voices.

_ “Over here! Look this way! Smile, look sexy, that’s it!” _

Wendy shook her head, trying to rid herself of the voices. She remembered them making her feel exposed, insecure, and pressured . . . pressured for what? Pressured to be . . . to be . . . . they wanted her to be something, but she couldn’t remember what. 

“Wendy,” Killian said gently, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down her arms. “Are you okay? Is it another headache?”

“Yeah,” she blinked, and the bright flashes faded away. The voices were muffled, and anything she was trying to remember dissipated like fog. “I . . . almost remembered something.”

“Okay. Was it good? Did it help?”

Wendy shook her head in frustration. “No, it didn’t make any sense.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed her, “don’t try and push it. It’ll come when you’re ready. Don’t try to force it.”

“Come sit down,” Mary Margaret told her, ushering her behind the photo booth table. David pulled out a chair for her and handed her a bottle of water. Wendy pressed it to her pounding temple.

“Thank you,” she told them all.

“Are you okay?” Henry asked worriedly. Alice picked up her hand and patted it the way she did her favorite white rabbit.

Wendy smiled up at the kids and squeezed Alice’s hand. “I’m fine, really. Why don’t you two go get some food?”

The kids looked up at their dad, and Killian nodded his approval. After they had scurried off, he kneeled next to Wendy and took the hand Alice had relinquished. 

“How about you? Are you hungry?”

Killian looked so worried, that even though she wasn’t, she nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to one of those cupcakes I saw over there.”

She gave him a wobbly smile, and he gave her a hesitant one in return. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it before dashing off. He seemed to do it without thinking, but Wendy felt a tingle go down her arm at the simple gesture. 

“You know, David, I could use a cupcake myself.” Mary Margaret told her husband.

David’s brow furrowed. “Really? Because I thought -”

“Don’t think, David, just get me a cupcake,” Mary Margaret cut him off with an arch of her brows. 

“Ohh, right. I’ll, uh - be right back.”

Wendy laughed as he headed for the refreshment table and glanced up at Mary Margaret. “Real smooth.”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Men are so dense sometimes.” She pulled a chair close to Wendy and sat down, taking both of Wendy’s hands in hers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wendy chewed on her lower lip. “There isn’t really anything to tell. Just like everything else, it’s so little, just bits and pieces. None of it makes sense.”

“How is your head now?”

“Better.”

“Okay, well, drink the water anyway. It can’t hurt to hydrate.”

“Yes mom,” Wendy teased with a smile before taking a drink.

When Killian got back, he insisted that Wendy not only eat her cupcake but also a small plate of cheese and crackers before he was satisfied that she was fine. He stayed right by her side, even though Wendy noticed several single women eying him with jealousy. He could be dancing with any number of them, but instead he was waiting to make sure her headache was gone. 

Alice was on the dance floor with a group of girls from her school, and Wendy and Killian laughed at their silly antics. They also watched with fondness when Henry shyly shuffled up to a dark haired girl from his class.

“That’s Violet,” Killian informed her, “you met her at one of the farms I took you to.”

“Oh, I remember. She seems like a sweet girl.”

“She is, and Henry’s had a bit of a crush since school started,” Killian leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “but I don’t think I’m supposed to know about it.”

Henry didn’t ask the girl to dance, but he did pull his cell phone and some ear buds out of his pocket and say something to her. Violet nodded shyly, taking one of the ear buds and sticking it in her ear. 

“Aw, they’re listening to a song together,” Wendy said, poking Killian in the side.

“Why? The DJs already playing music. Why the bloody hell didn’t he ask her to dance?”

“Oh come on, don’t sound like an old man. It’s sweet.”

Alice popped up seemingly out of nowhere with a huge grin on her face. “Did you hear the DJ? They’re about to do the cha-cha slide. You’ve got to come out here and do it!”

Alice grabbed both of their hands and pulled. Killian’s face immediately turned red.

“I don’t think that dance is really my style . . . “

“Oh come on,” Wendy teased, “the song tells you exactly what to do, Jones.”

“Please Daddy,  _ please _ ?”

“Well, I can never say no to that.”

Wendy and Killian followed the little girl onto the dance floor and lined up with other members of the town. The song started up, and the crowd cheered. “ _ Everybody clap your hands _ !”

“Well, I can handle this, I guess,” Killian quipped, and Wendy laughed. 

“ _ To the left, take it back now, ya’ll.” _

The crowd on the dance floor followed the song’s instructions, and Killian kept laughing as he looked over at Wendy. Alice cheered her father on, which was adorable. 

_ “Hands on your knees, hands on your knees. Get funky with it!” _

“Um, why is this so awkward?” Killian muttered. 

“Probably because of those tight pants,” Wendy laughed. 

_ “Come on, cha cha now ya’ll.” _

“You girls have much better moves than I do.”

“Of course we do, Daddy!” Alice giggled. 

“Wow, what a vote of confidence,” Killian said dryly.

Wendy’s cheeks ached from laughing so hard by the time the dance was over. The crowd cheered. Killian wiped his forehead in an exaggerated fashion. 

“Come on, old man,” Wendy teased, “you not jiggy with it?”

Killian’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Now who sounds old?”

“I have amnesia.”

“Oh, that’s your excuse.”

“Okay, all you lovers out there,” the DJ announced, “this one’s for you.”

The musical intro of a slow song began to play, and Killian turned to Wendy with a tender smile and an outstretched hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Ew gross,” Alice announced with a wrinkled nose, “I’m gonna go get another cupcake.”

Wendy laughed as she took Killian’s hand. He pulled her close and placed his plastic hook at her waist. They started to sway to the music.

“This hook makes slow dancing a little awkward. I’d much rather feel something with my left hand -” he stuttered to a stop, his face turning bright red. “I mean, I didn’t - that . . . I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Wendy laughed and shook her head. “I know what you meant.”

“Good.”

Wendy tilted her head as she took in his pink tinged cheeks. She relinquished his hand and rested hers on his shoulder, then she slid both arms around his neck. Killian’s other hand fell to her waist.

“Is this better?” she asked. 

“Much better.”

They both fell silent as the words to the song washed over them. “ _ There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then, it’s like the sun came out.” _

Wendy couldn’t seem to look away from the deep pools of his blue eyes, and Killian’s arms wrapped tighter around her. His face bent closer, inch by agonizing inch, until their noses were brushing and their breaths mingled. The music around them swelled in intensity. 

_ “And the day is clear. My voice is just a whisper louder than the screams you hear. It’s  _ _ like the sun came out.” _

“Killian,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her eyes fluttered closed. His lips brushed hesitantly over hers, and she melted against him.

“Emma, thank God we found you!” 

Wendy’s head spun with confusion, as one moment she was awaiting Killian’s lips being pressed against hers, and the next a no-nonsense brunette was pulling her away from him. The woman narrowed her eyes as she clasped Wendy by both elbows and gave her a tiny shake. 

“Emma, it’s me, Regina.”

“Emma!” another voice cried out, and before Wendy could process anything else, a man 

was crushing her to him in an embrace. _ _

“Wait,” Killian spoke up, “who the hell are you?”

“I’m her fiance,” the sandy-haired man snapped, “the better question is who are  _ you _ ?”

“She doesn’t have a ring.”

Wendy, still confused, looked down at her bare ring finger. “I don’t have a ring.” All around them, there were whispers from the other townspeople. The music still played, but no one was dancing anymore.

“Well, we hadn’t gotten around to that part yet,” the man - her fiance? - grumbled. 

Wendy looked dazedly up at Killian. Mary Margaret and David were just behind him. Alice had come up and put her arms around him. Henry was on his other side. 

“My . . . my name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

Killian searched her face as his lips ticked up just a bit in one corner. “Swan. Emma Swan.”

“Yes, Emma Swan,” the brunette snapped, “we’ve established that’s her name, and I’m Regina Mills, her agent. Emma, we’ve got to get you back to New York. This solo album won’t happen if you don’t get back to the studio. Not to mention the interviews I’ve got lined up.”

Killian blinked rapidly. “Agent? Solo album?”

“That’s right. She’s Emma Swan, singer and rhythm guitarist for the band Wendy Sewed it On.” It was Zelena, smirking behind Regina Mills, with Sheriff Graham at her side. She shoved a magazine in Killian’s face. Killian scanned it, then looked up in shock at Emma. 

“Violet said she thought you looked familiar,” he said softly. 

“We found your car Ms. Swan,” Sheriff Graham spoke up, “it’s totalled, but we have your luggage, your purse, and your phone down at the station. 

“So come on, Emma,” Regina insisted.

“Let’s go home Emma,” Walsh said slowly to her, as if she were a child.

Emma shook her head and backed away from both of them. “Wait - just a minute. I . . . I have to say goodbye.”

Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned to Killian and the kids. She smiled as she reached for Killian’s hand. It still held the magazine, but he let it flutter to the floor when she took his hand. 

“This is my life I guess,” she told him.

He searched her face, lines furrowing his brow. “You remember?”

A single tear slipped down her face, but she forced nonchalance as she half-shrugged. “I remember my name finally. I guess the rest will come.”

He glanced hesitantly over her shoulder at Regina and Walsh, then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You know you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need to.”

“Don’t go!” Alice cried out, flinging herself at Emma and wrapping her arms around her waist. Emma bent down and kissed the top of the girl’s head.

“I’ll miss you all, and you’ve been so kind to me, but . . . maybe if I go home, I’ll remember my life. I have to try.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged as he nodded slowly. “I understand.” He stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “Your heart’s desire - that’s all I want for you.”

Emma reached up and clasped his hand in hers, then reached forward and brushed a  chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll think about you,” Emma choked, “all of you, everyday.”

Killian forced a smile, tears welling up in his blue eyes. “Good.” Then he forced a wink, and Emma choked on a half sob, half laugh. 

“Goodbye,” she whispered, then let Regina and Walsh - who still felt like strangers - usher her quickly from the room. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning to New York with Regina and Walsh, Emma finds herself lost in this life that is supposedly hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Here it is! The end of this journey! This chapter isn't super long, but I feel it ties everything up rather nicely (for the most part). I'm no expert on brain injuries or memory loss, and while I often am a research girl, I honestly just didn't feel like it with this. The Hallmark movie I based it on may have gotten it totally wrong, and since that's my source material, it's what I'm going with *shrug* Please be gracious and remember it's just a fic!  
* This has always been a gift for @teamhook, and my dear, I hope this ending brightens your day after all you have been through! I always knew this was where it would lead, with these exact bits of dialogue inspired by the song by Gabrielle Aplin that you shared with me. I even incorporated some lines from the song into the closing scene for you. Sending you lots of love, my friend!

It was awkwardly silent in the elevator. Honestly, it had been awkwardly silent the majority of the time between her and Walsh ever since she got home. Yet it seemed to hang even heavier between them since the doctor’s appointment earlier. 

The elevator stopped at her floor, and the ding when the doors opened only punctuated the silence. Emma dug in her purse for her keys, and wished like every other time Walsh rode up with her how to politely send him away. He hadn’t pushed her for anything physical - mostly. He just whined like an oversized baby about it, constantly asking her when things would get back to normal.

In that sense, today’s appointment was almost a relief. 

“Well, thanks for walking me up,” Emma told him as she grasped her keys. 

Walsh gave her a smile that he must have thought was charming. It wasn’t.

“Come on now, Emma, you can’t let your fiance in for a few minutes?”

She pressed her hand firmly to his chest as he leaned in. “You’re not my fiance.”

“Of course I am. You just don’t remember.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, first of all, you heard the doctor today. Chances are, I won’t ever remember.”

“Chances is the word. You heard him, there’s always a chance. Especially if I jog your memory.”

He went to put his arms around her, and for the first time, Emma had to shove him off. It sent her heart beating erratically, and not in a pleasant way. It also sent anger flaring through her veins.

“God, do you even listen to me?” she shouted. She had tried so hard since she got back to New York to cooperate, hoping that following the lead of Walsh and Regina would bring her memories rushing back. Now she was sick of it. 

“Actually I do,” Walsh snapped, “which is why I know you aren’t even trying to remember.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose. And no, you don’t listen, because I wasn’t finished.  _ Second _ , I don’t have a ring, Walsh.” Emma waved her hand in front of him. 

“People don’t need a ring to get engaged.”

“I also listened to your message,” she bit out. “You proposed, but I never accepted. You may not need a ring, genius, but the girl has to actually say  _ yes _ .”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Well, I am now.” 

Walsh blinked. “Emma, seriously, this isn’t you.”

“No Walsh, it is me! Maybe this whole experience has changed me, maybe I’ll never fully remember who I was before, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have  _ always _ been hesitant to marry you.” Emma pressed her fist, still clutching her keys, to her chest. “I know you and Regina keep treating me like a wounded puppy, but I do remember some things clearly. I was getting away to Maine because I was stressed and confused. I was unsure of so many things, including us.”

Walsh’s face fell, as if he were finally beginning to understand. “But I thought we were so good together.”

Emma was able to smile at him. She stepped closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “You were comfortable - safe. Being with you didn’t risk my heart because my feelings were on the surface. Your proposal brought all of that into focus.”

“So what you’re saying is, you were always going to say no.” 

Emma nodded, truly feeling sorry for Walsh for the first time. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember our first date or how we met, but I do remember that.”

Walsh nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. He gave her a platonic hug, and Emma accepted it. Then he walked away from her, and when the elevator doors closed behind him, Emma sagged with relief against her door. 

The phone in her jacket pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to see text messages from her bandmates pop up one after another. 

_ How did the appointment go? - Elsa _

_ Did the doctor have good news? Are you getting your memories back? I’m dying with worry here! - Anna _

_ Calling to check on you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but have you dumped Walsh yet? - Ruby _

_ I wanna hear more about this hot vet you were snowed in with. And don’t tell me he wasn’t hot, I can read between the lines. - Ruby _

Emma smiled as she scrolled through the messages. It was strange the way a brain injury worked. The moment she walked through her front door and saw her three best friends waiting for her, memories had flooded her. She didn’t remember anything but confusing feelings where Walsh was concerned, she couldn’t remember this supposed solo career Regina kept going on about, but she did remember these three amazing women. She couldn’t remember performing, but memories had returned of the times they spent together both on the road and before they hit it big. She also remembered the words to every single one of their songs. The doctor had explained to her that the brain was a complex organ. His theory was that she had retained her emotional memories, but not the details of her life. 

Bizarre didn’t begin to cover it.

Emma locked the door behind her, toed off her shoes, and dropped her keys in the catch all by the door. She collapsed onto a couch that was too hard in a room that was too cold. The view of the city skyline outside her window seemed foreign. With a sigh, she moved to her bedroom, shooting off texts to her friends as she went. She slipped into a pair of comfortable pajamas, collapsed onto her bed, and grabbed the tv remote. 

This was apparently her life, and she simply had no idea what to do with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Checkmate!” Liam crowed with satisfaction, but his face fell when he looked across the chess board to find Killian staring absently at the chess pieces. “Little brother? I beat you. Again.”

Killian sighed and knocked over some of the pieces in frustration. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

Liam frowned. “This is still about Wendy, isn’t it?”

“Emma,” Killian corrected him as he ran a hand wearily down his face, “her name is actually Emma. Emma Swan.” His hand dropped to his lap, and he studied his brother warily. “And please spare me the  _ I told you so _ .”

Liam leaned back, both hands lifted in the air in surrender. “I’m not going to say that, trust me. This is a situation where I hate being right.”

Killian arched a brow. “My brother? Hates being right? Who are you and what have you done to my real brother?”

“Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I liked her. I liked how happy you were when she was here. If the situation had been different -”

Killian cut him off. “But it wasn’t. She has a life, a career, a  _ fiance _ somewhere else. God, I was such a fool.”

“No, you weren’t. You were generous in offering your home to her. I was wrong, Killian. You did the right thing. I can’t believe I was so callous towards her.”

Killian drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded Liam. “You never seem to realize what an ass you’re being to the women in my life until it’s too late.”

Liam leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fisted hands. “With Milah, you’re right. When you adopted Henry, I still gave her hell. I worried a child was just another novelty to her. But then she was such a wonderful mother, then you got Alice, and . . . .”

Liam trailed off with a long sigh. Killian’s brow furrowed in shock.

“I thought you didn’t soften towards her until she got sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Try to mend things with her?”

“You know how bloody stubborn I am. I’m sorry, Killian, I would do it all differently if I had the chance.”

“I know.” Killian could never stay angry at his brother for long. He loved him too much.

“Besides, who says it's too late with Wendy - I mean Emma. She may be missing you just as much as you’re missing her.”

Killian absentmindedly picked up a pawn and twirled it between his fingers. “Doubtful. She’s a bloody rock star, for God’s sake.”

“The kids miss her too, don’t they?”  
“Aye.”

“She said she’d keep in touch.”

“People always say that. Then they never do.”

“Give her time. None of this can be easy.”

Killian was about to counter that Emma had no reason to think of them now that her memories had most likely returned, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He gave his brother a confused look. It was late, and the kids were already asleep. Who could possibly be knocking? He hurried to the door, looked through the keyhole, then swore under his breath to find the view blocked by greenery. Alice had made a wreath for the door, and he couldn’t see a damn thing past her handiwork. He wrenched the door open, expecting it to be a local farmer with a livestock emergency. 

It wasn’t a farmer.

“Emma,” he breathed in awe. 

She smiled, and it was like the sun came out. 

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t 

recognize you. Let’s just say it’s mostly Radio Disney around here. And something about K-Pop which I don’t really -”

“I was never engaged,” Emma blurted out. 

“Oh?”

Emma twisted her hands nervously and shrugged. “He proposed, but I never accepted.” She trailed off, her gaze darting to her feet. “It felt important for you to know that.”

“There’s no need to explain,” he told her gently. “I’m just glad you’re getting your memories back.”

“I’m not,” she said, her gaze flying back to lock on his.

“What do you mean?”

She bit on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t have my memories back. I remember bits and pieces, feelings mostly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s something I just gotta say, alright?”

Killian nodded. He’d been sort of speechless anyway since he opened the door.

She licked her lips nervously before plunging in. “The doctors say I might  _ never  _ get my memories back. Not all of them, anyway. But I’m okay with that because what little I remember either isn’t that great or it’s fantastic.” She winced as she closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m still listening.”

She returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own. “Right. So, I remember that I was a foster kid. I must have been since I was a baby because that’s all I remember. I don’t remember any of the places I lived or who I lived with. All I remember is that I never had a home.”

His heart broke for her and the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't interrupt. 

“I remember I ran away all the time. I just figured that when you really have a home, when you leave, you just  _ miss  _ it. So my whole childhood, I just kept running waiting to feel that, but I never did. Then I found my band. And I got to keep running, on the road you know? But it was okay because my family was running with me. I think that’s why they’re the only people I remember. Except -”

She paused, and a look of fear flashed over her face. He took a step closer and took her hand. “Except?” he prompted.

“Except you. And the kids.” She winced again, shaking her head and laughing. “Not that I wouldn’t remember you, I mean I met you after. What I’m trying to say is . . . I miss you. When I left here, I missed it all  _ so much _ . My band - the people in it - were home, but that was ending. And then I met you - and Alice and Henry. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my life got a reset that day you found me. I want to start time, right here. With you.”

Killian searched her face, scarcely daring to believe this was real. He reached up with a shaking hand and traced her jaw with his finger. 

“What about your career?” he asked softly. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage of her while she was in a vulnerable place.

She smiled at him as a single tear slipped down her face. “I never wanted that career. I loved the band - the people, I mean. But not the performing or the limelight. I just want to play and write songs on my guitar. I can do that anywhere.” 

He let hope expand his heart for the first time. He cupped her face with both hands, catching her tear with his thumb. 

“Stay with me?” he asked her. 

Emma’s eyes crinkled at the force of her smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Killian bent slowly to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him more access. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair as his tongue lazily explored her mouth. Emma pulled back and smiled with such blinding happiness, he could hardly take it in. Then her eyes fluttered closed, and she captured his lips again. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He never wanted to let her go.

** _I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something. Be together at the start of time._ **

  
  


**Rolling Stone Magazine - Two Years Later:**

. . .  _ The Grammy’s this year brought one big surprise: Emma Swan Jones, former member of the female rock band Wendy Sewed it On, took home the Song of the Year award for penning Ruby Lucas’s number one smash hit “The Song in Your Heart.” The romantic power ballad was a slight departure for the normally angst-filled alternative rock Swan-Jones was known for when she was part of Wendy Sewed it On. Yet her new hyphenated last name along with her acceptance speech may give her fans a hint for the change. In her speech, she thanked “my true love, my husband Killian. Words can’t say enough how much you mean to me or how you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have this award without you, babe.” Judging by the baby bump she was proudly showing off beneath her Elie Saab couture gown on the red carpet, Emma Swan Jones is very happy with her man which may mean more romantic ballads from her in the future . . .  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right - Emma will never totally get all of her memories back! It's how the hallmark movie ended, too, and I kind of like the idea of Emma getting a restart in her life. Plus, the movie The Vow also ends this way, and that was based on a true story in which the wife also never regained her memories. I figure it must be possible then. 
> 
> Also, I imagined the song that Emma won a Grammy for being a pop love ballad rather than the broadway style song of the same name in the CS wedding. So it's not the same song, it just has the same title as a nod to our OTP.


End file.
